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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


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GIFT  OF 

SEELEY  W.  MUDD 

and 

GEORGE  I.  COCHRAN     MEYER  ELSASSER 

DR.JOHNR.  HAYNES    WILLIAM  L.  HONNOLD 

JAMES  R.  MARTIN         MRS.  JOSEPH  F.  SARTORI 

to  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SOUTHERN  BRANCH 


JOHN  FISKE 


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THE  TROUBADOURS 
AT  HOME 

THEIR  LIVES  AND  PERSONALITIES,  THEIR 
SONGS  AND  THEIR  WORLD 


BY 

JUSTIN  H.  SMITH 

Professor  of  Modern  History  in  Dartmouth  College 


17S  ILLUSTRATIONS 


VOLUME 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW   YORK  &  LONDON 

Cbc  "(knickcrbocher  iprcss 

1899 


J     J        3     ; 


\'.''  '. 


Copyright,  1899 

BY 

JUSTIN  H.  SMITH 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


"Cbc  linkhcibocfter  press,  t\cw  J^ork 


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X 


CONTENTS 

A  Synoptical  Table  of  Contents  will  be  found  immediately  before  the  Index. 

PAGE 

XXIV — Vic  and  Aurii.i.ac  :  The  Monk  of  Montaudon   .  i 
XXV— En  Route  ;  Ussei.  :  Gui  d'Uissel         ...  20 
XXVI— Le  Puy,  St.  MiCHEt,  AND  ESPAtY  :  Peire  Cardi- 
nal         31 

XXVII— POWGNAC  :  Guilhem  de  Sain  Leidier  ...  48 

XXVIII— Chapteuil  AND  Mercceur  :  Pons  de  Capduelh  63 

XXIX— VODABI.E  AND  Peiroi.:  The  Dalfin,  Perdigo,  and 

Peirol 85 

XXX— Clermont-Ferrand  :  Marcabru       .        .        .     105 

XXXI— EgleTONS  :  A  Day's  Journey  in  the  World  of  the 

Troubadours        .         .         .         .         .         ,         .120 

XXXII — VenTadour  :  Bernart  de  Ventadorn  .  .  .151 
XXXIII— EgleTons  :  Bernart  de  Ventadorn  [Concluded]  1^4 
XXXIV— UzERCHE  AND  MalemorT  :  Gaucelm  Faidit       .     190 

XXXV— HauteforT,  Montignac,  and  Chalais:  Ber- 

tran  de  Born 219 

XXXVI— HauTEFORT  and  Rocamadour  :  Bertran  de  Born 

(Conc/uded) 240 

XXXVII— ExciDEUil, :  Guiraut  de  Bomeil  .         .         .         .258 
XXXVIII— RiBERAC:  The  Art  of  the  Troubadours         .         .     281 
XXXIX — Bordeaux,     Blaye,    and    Benauges  :   Jaufre 

Rudel  ........     297 

XL — Angouleme  and  Barbezieux:   Rigaut  de  Ber- 

besieu  and  Cadenet 313 

XL,I— Poitiers  :  The  Origins  of  Troubadour  Poetry     .     324 

VOL.  II.  iii 


175084 


iv  Contents 

PAGE 

XLII — Poitiers:  Guilbem  IX.,  Duke  of  Aquitaine      .         .  340 
XLIII— Poitiers  and  Toi^edo  :   Guiraut  Riquier  ;  The  De- 
cline  of  Provetifal  Poetry,  its  Glory,  and  its  In- 
fluence          358 

Notes 379 

Appendix  :  The  Troubadours  Grouped  Geographically           .  477 

vSynopticai.  Table  of  Contents 479 

Index 4''^3 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Several  Numbers  indicate  as  many  different  pictures. 


Angoui,eme     . 

. 

•       314 

Hunting  ....       70 

Armor 

235,  237,  260 

Le  Puy      .        .        .   32,  37,  54 

AURILIvAC 

.  8,  12 

Malemort       .        .        .213 

Backgammon 

.      141 

Mercceur          .        .          68,  74 

Barbezieux 

.      320 

MONTIGNAC        .           .           .       225 

Beaucaire 

.      123 

Music,  163,  200,  205,  279,336,365 

Benauges 

.      301 

Musical  Instruments,  197,201 

Blaye 

■      305 

Najac       ....       22 

Bordeaux 

299-  3" 

Peiroi 96 

Buron 

■     .        86 

PERIGuEUX        .         .         .      282 

CeIvTic  Ornament  . 

■      333 

Poitiers,  326,  342,  346,  349,  352 

Chair  of  State 

•      145 

POEIGNAC             .           .             51,  57 

CHAIyAlS       . 

.      229 

Polminhac      ...       23 

CHAI.US      . 

203,  209 

PuY  (Le)  .         .         .    32,  37,  54 

Chapteuii, 

65,  78 

PuY  DE  Dome  .        .        .     106 

CIvERMONT-FERRAN 

D         .        109 

Riberac   ....     293 

COSTXJME    . 

70 

Richard  Cceur-de-Lion      260 

DAI.ON 

.        189 

ROCAMADOUR     .            .            .255 

Embroidery    . 

•       125 

Tapestry  Figure   .        .     130 

Enamei.    . 

.            .       136 

Tennis      .         .         .         -144 

Espaly     . 

•       34 

Toledo     ....     369 

EXCIDEUII, 

264,  270 

USSEL         ....        26 

Fireplace 

•      134 

Uzerche  .        .        .191,  193 

Goneanon 

•      237 

Ventadour     152,  157,  169,  i8r 

Gothic  Ornament 

.      112 

Vic-sur-Cere  ...         3 

Hautefort     2 

>22,   2 

23,  243,  249 

VODABLE   ...           87,   lOI 

THE  TROUBADOURS  AT  HOME 


XXIV 

VIC   AND   AURILLAC 

The  Monk  of  Montaudon 

DONE  at  last,  thank  heaven,  with  crusades  and  battles 
and  massacres  and  all  the  rest  of  the  Albigensian 
troubles.  Albi  and  the  south  lie  now  behind  us,  our 
faces  are  toward  the  north,  and  our  thoughts  turn  to  the 
famous  troubadours  awaiting  us  there. 

Yet  we  are  not  quite  done,  after  all.  No  more  horrors 
threaten  us,  but  j  ust  here  we  stumble  upon  the  comic  side 
of  these  terrible  events  ;  for  the  tragedies  of  real  life  have 
a  strange  wa,v  of  edging  now  and  then  into  farce. 

The  farce  opens  rather  oddlv.  We  stand  on  a  sharp 
knob  of  rock  and  earth  overlooking  a  village  on  the  edge 
of  Auvergne.  It  must  always  have  been  attractive,  this 
Vic-sur-Cere — for  we  see  here  yet  a  one-time  residence  of 
the  prince  of  Monaco,  shorn  of  its  outer  beauties  by  the 
patriots  of  '93 — and  at  present  the  town  is  getting  its  name 
up  as  a  regulation  summer-resort.  Circulars  expatiate 
upon  its  mineral  springs  and  its  gorge.  Chromo-litho- 
graphs  picture  its  mountain  in  all  the  waiting-rooms  of 
the  railroad  .system.  Progress  is  beginning  to  lavish 
benign  influences  upon  it.      Cast-iron  fences  and  boxed- 

VOL.  II.  — I. 


2  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

up  orange  trees  have  arrived  ;  and  among  the  cozy  and 
enchanting  cottages,  vi^ith  their  high-peaked,  low-eaved 
roofs,  there  have  appeared  two  or  three  freshly  painted 
rectangular  parallelopipeds  of  houses,  lavender-colored 
like  the  trousers  of  a  Paris  dandy. 

Happily  most  of  the  improvements,  like  the  new  hotel, 
the  casino,  and  the  spring-house,  are  half  a  mile  away  in 
the  congenial  company  of  the  railroad  station.  Vic  still 
remains  a  charming  old  village  hung  on  the  mountain-side, 
with  a  great  cross  rising  into  the  sky  above  it  from  an 
overhanging  crag  ;  and  the  narrow  streets  are  just  now 
filled  with  a  beauty  and  a  sweetness  that  progress  could 
not  bring,  though  it  will  doubtless  take  away. 

It  is  Ascension  Day,  and  the  sky,  which  has  been  dark 
and  cold,  suddenly  unveils  its  very  brightest  blue. 

The  high  knob  from  which  we  look  is  crowned  with  a 
chapel  of  hoary  age.  Before  it,  under  the  maples  in  the 
scant  yard,  is  a  high  cross  of  wrought-iron,  standing  on  a 
square  pedestal  of  stone  like  an  altar.  The  stone  has 
been  covered  with  a  white  cloth,  and  upon  that  are  fast- 
ened pansies,  white  and  purple  locusts,  and  cornflowers. 
Bunches  of  peonies  mark  the  four  corners  at  the  top,  and 
maple  leaves  are  strewn  about  the  foot. 

At  the  parish  church  in  the  midst  of  the  village  the 
people  gather  quietly  in  their  rustic  best,  and  then  march 
this  way  in  a  procession.  Up  the  steep  road  and  around 
the  chapel  turns  the  line,  till  it  gathers  itself  up  before 
the  altar  and  cross.  First  come  three  boys  in  scarlet  caps 
and  scarlet  coats  and  scarlet  capes  edged  with  ermine, 
bearing  a  crucifix  and  two  lighted  candles  ;  then  a  woman 
with  a  banner  ;  then  the  women  of  the  village  in  a  double 
line,  with  banners  here  and  there  ;  then  the  girls  ;  then 
the  assisting  priest, — chanting  ;  next  a  few  nuns  ;  next 
the  officiating  priest,  and  finally  a  company  of  men  and  a 
long  line  of  boys.     They  all  place  themselves  as  best  they 


VJC-SUR-CERE. 


The  Monk  of  Montaudon  5 

can  around  the  altar  and  along  the  winding  ascent,  and 
listen  reverently  to  the  mass.  Under  the  trees  on  the 
slopes  we  see  women  standing  or  kneeling  in  the  grass, 
book  and  rosary  in  hand.  Even  in  yards  quite  a  di.stance 
away  many  are  kneeling  by  themselves,  their  eyes  fixed 
on  the  cross  and  their  lips  moving  in  silent  prayer.  A 
touch  of  air  stirs  the  leaves  of  the  maples.  Odors  of  spring 
float  down  upon  us  from  the  mountain.  Reverence, 
piety,  simplicity,  and  innocence — presences  almost  visible 
— seem  to  hover  above  us,  about  us,  and  among  us.  How 
rude  a  contrast  is  hard  by,  and  that  in  the  person  of  a 
churchman  ! 

Just  across  the  ravine  from  the  chapel  is  another  peak 
or  shoulder  of  the  mountain,  higher  and  bigger  than  the 
one  we  stand  upon.  The  spot  is  still  called  b}^  the  vil- 
lagers the  Old  Castle — VicI  Castcl — but  castle  there  is 
none.  In  the  place  of  it  are  grass  and  trees,  fenced  with 
a  high  enclosure;  and  here  and  there  one  finds  a  notice  : 
"  Traps  for  wolves  set  here." 

You  remember  that  satirical  Monk  of  Montaudon,'  who 
delighted  to  touch  up  the  most  famous  troubadours  and 
make  them  look  ridiculous  ?  Here  he  meets  us.  Vic  was 
his  earh-  home,  and  the  vanished  castle  his  birthplace. 
Piety  and  innocence  take  flight  before  his  name  ;  comedy, 
farce,  and  ribaldr}^  surround  us  ;  for  in  a  word  the  Monk 
was  precisely  one  of  those  rascally  priests  who  caused  so 
much  scandal,  set  the  "  good  men  "  preaching,  and  made 
an  opening  for  Simon  de  Montfort.  Damiani's  book  of 
Gomorrah  tells  about  his  kind  ;  Comba,  Milman,  and 
Sackur  know  it  well.^  The  Monk  is  quite  as  black,  too, 
as  the  picture.  And  5'et — as  we  meet  him  face  to  face  he 
is  so  jolh',  so  good-natured,  so  human,  so  frank  withal, 
and  so  honest,  that  we  find  ourselves  laughing  with  him 
in  spite  of  e\'erything  at  about  his  third  guffaw. 


6  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

The  Monk  of  Montaudon,  for  he  bears  no  other  name, 
was  no  doubt  a  younger  son,  and  so  the  Church  became 
his  natural  destiny, — more  inevitably,  perhaps,  because 
his  family  was  vassal  to  the  powerful  bishops  of  Mague- 
lonne  and  so  had  an  influence  within  the  pale.  Anyhow 
the  boy  went  down  to  Aurillac,  called  Orlac '  in  those 
daj'S,  had  first  a  turn  at  the  abbey  school,  no  doubt,  and 
in  due  time  became  an  inmate  of  the  monastery  itself.  It 
was  a  famous  institution,  the  abbey  of  Orlac,  founded 
(about  894)  in  the  days  of  Alfred  the  Great  by  St.  Geraud, 
the  lord  of  the  castle  on  the  hill  above  it.  Here  were 
laid  the  foundations  of  that  extraordinar}'  learning 
which  made  Gerbert  pope,  and  also  pretty  well  satis- 
fied a  horrified  Christendom  that  he  had  sold  himself 
to  the  Devil.  Many  other  great  scholars  went  out  from 
Orlac,  and  two  of  the  abbots  are  now  in  the  calendar  of 
saints. 

Our  hero  felt  no  vocation  to  eclipse  these  glories  of  the 
school  and  the  abbey,  but  without  a  doubt  learned  how 
to  utter  Pax  vobisacm  in  a  ver)'  comforting  manner, 
and  even  considerabl}-  more  than  that.  As  the  son  of  a 
good  famih'  and  far  indeed  from  witless,  it  became  neces- 
sar}^  by-and-by  to  provide  him  with  a  comfortable  berth  ; 
so  in  due  time  the  abbot  made  him  the  prior  of  Montau- 
don— a  place  that  has  disappeared  entirely — and  life  began 
to  spread  itself  before  him. 

A  man  of  his  type  was  quite  sure  to  be  heard  from.  The 
barons  of  the  neighborhood  discovered  before  long  a  new 
light  among  them,  and  the}'  hastened  to  welcome  the  prior 
and  invite  him  to  their  castles.  He  was  soon  like  the 
president  of  many  a  poor  college  in  the  west  and  south, 
who  spends  most  of  his  time  in  the  east  among  wealth}' 
friends  of  education.  The  results,  too,  were  similar. 
Laden  with  spoils — gold  and  silver,  rich  vestments,  and 
treasures  of  everj-  sort— he  returned  now  and  then  to  his 


The  Monk  of  Montaiidon  7 

monastery,  and  received  with  becoming  modesty  the  plau- 
dits of  a  grateful  brotherhood. 

The  results  zvcrc  similar,  but  how  different  the  methods  ! 
No  prosy  lectures  on  the  perils  of  illiteracy  and  irreligion  ! 
No  homilies  on  the  duty  and  blessedness  of  "  torch-bear- 
ing "  !  A  jolly  song,  a  racy  tale,  clever  skits  in  verse  on 
the  doings  of  the  day,  merriment  and  wassail, — these  were 
his  arguments  ;  and  no  one  thought  a  whit  the  worse  of 
his  cowl  either  ;  for  priests  could  wear  beards  then,  and 
marry,  and  trade,  and  handle  a  world  of  worldly  matters 
if  they  chose. 

How  things  woke  up  at  the  castle  when  the  Monk's  big 
red  face  appeared  in  the  courtyard  !  Everybody  who 
owned  a  story  took  it  down  and  furbished  it,  and  decked 
it  out  with  new  and  veracious  details.  Ev^erybody  who 
knew  a  song  began  to  tune  his  pipes.  Everybody  gifted 
with  a  sharp  and  saucy  wit  hastened  to  clear  his  decks  for 
action.  Dulness  hid  away,  and  the  password  was  "  Qui 
vive  !  ' ' 

Nor  was  the  little  court  the  only  gainer.  Welcome  in 
the  hall,  the  shrewd  Monk  was  also  free  of  the  kitchen. 
He  chaifed  the  women  and  chucked  the  maids,  confessed 
the  sinners  and  perverted  the  saints,  here  eased  a  heavy 
conscience  and  there  smacked  a  rosy  cheek,  till  delight 
and  bashfulness,  coquetry,  admiration,  and  pride  were  all 
in  such  a  dizzy  whirl  that  he  could  do  exactly  as  he  liked 
and  nobody  suspect  what  he  was  about  until  afterward. 

Gradually  his  range  grew^  wider  and  his  fame  greater. 
On  one  trip  he  seems  to  have  invaded  Toulouse  and  won 
the  count  ;  on  another  to  have  met  and  vastly  pleased  our 
gallant  Amfos,  the  king  of  Aragon.  At  one  time  he  prob- 
ably made  friends  with  King  Philippe  Auguste  of  France  ; 
at  another  he  carried  by  storm  the  merry  soul  of  Richard 
the  Lion-hearted.  What  rousing  vigils  these  two  must 
have  had  together  !     And  what  wonder  that  the  Sluggard 


8 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Knight  was  qualified  for  the  cell,  the  riddles,  and  the  pasty 
of  Friar  Tuck! 

To  Orlac  was  probably  his  most  frequent  excursion. 


m 


§3P>fi 


i  p 

- 

CASTLE  ST.   ETIENNE,  AURILLAC. 

First  he  paid  his  humble  and  dutiful  re.spects  to  the  abbot, 
and  then  we  may  be  sure  he  turned  awa}^  with  a  heartfelt 
sigh  of  relief,  and  lightl}-  climbed  the  hill  to  the  castle  St. 
Etienne.  Here  is  the  path  that  perhaps  he  took  ;  and 
above  us  rises  the  castle, — the  keep  just  as  it  was  in  his 


Monastic  Laxness  9 

day,  and  the  rest  of  it  rebuilt  faithfulh',  as  the}-  tell  us, 
according'  to  the  original  plans. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  him  in  the  hall  up  there.  At  the 
heart  of  the  revels  we  see  a  big,  lusty,  roistering  priest, 
Ben  Jonson's  "  mountain  bell}^  and  rocky  face,"  with  a 
certain  streak  of  Bobby  Burns,  a  liberal  touch  of  FalstafF, 
and  a  good  deal  of  Rabelais.  Not  a  great  theologian,  but 
a  firm  believer  in  the  Devil  ;  not  righteous  overmuch,  but 
loyal  to  the  interests  of  his  Order;  always  ready  for  a  song, 
a  story,  a  laugh,  a  bottle,  and  a  wench;  coar.se,  large- 
hearted,  jolly,  outspoken,  often  sharp  and  on  occasion 
wise,  one  you  might  despise  but  could  not  hate, — such  he 
is.  Caustic  and  contentious,  witty  and  reckless,  he  proves 
a  hard  antagonist,  3'et  is  noway  crab]:)ed,  noway  mis- 
anthropic ;  and  his  flood  of  animal  spirits  bears  even  his 
routed  foemen  away  on  a  full  tide  of  laughter  and  good 
humor.  He  scandalizes  the  pious,  shocks  the  refined, 
comforts  the  depressed,  and  imposes  on  his  boon  compan- 
ions a  strange  mixture  of  contempt  for  godliness  and  good- 
will for  Mother  Church,  an  easy  disregard  for  the  Ten 
Commandments,  and  a  fitful,  superstitious  fear  of  the  in- 
visible. How  he  can  sing  !  It  is  a  good  deal  of  trouble 
to  get  him  started,  for  great  is  the  power  of  inertia  ;  but 
once  his  deep  bass  voice  is  well  in  tune  the  rafters  have  to 
join  the  chorus  and  the  mugs  begin  to  dance.  Then, 
when  the  song  is  over,  how  he  can  swear  !  One  after  an- 
other a  score  of  good  round  oaths  troll  off  his  lusty  tongue. 
Sant  Marti,  Sant  Dalmatz,  Sant  Salvador,  Sant  Marcelh, 
Sant  Miquel,  Sant  Peire,  Sant  Laurent,— just  out  of  sight 
he  keeps  the  whole  company  at  call  ready  to  back  him  up, 
it  would  seem,  as  Robin  had  the  merrj'  archers  of  Sher- 
wood Forest.^ 

After  a  considerable  time  of  this  life  the  Monk  was  called 
back  to  duty  by  remorse  or  by  his  abbot,  and  passed  a 
year  or  two  in  seclusion  at  Montaudon.     No  harsh  aus- 


lo  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

terity  governed  his  life  there,  we  may  assume.  Etienne 
de  Bourbon,  who  wrote  about  this  time,  knew  of  a  priory 
that  might  have  been  Montaudon,  we  suspect.  The 
monks,  he  tells  us,  passed  the  evenings  in  eating,  drink- 
ing, and  carousing,  and  as  a  consequence  were  drowsy 
enough  when  the  bell  sounded  for  matins.  Appearances 
must  be  preserved,  however  ;  so  they  would  rise  and  begin 
the  service,  but  presently  their  heads  would  fall  upon  their 
books  at  the  close  of  every  line.  Finally  the  genius  of 
the  company  discovered  a  plan  :  choir-boys  were  ordered 
to  chant  with  the  monks,  so  that  when  the  latter  fell 
asleep  the  service  would  not  come  to  an  end,  I  take  it. 
But  the  choir-bo3's  were  not  dull.  The  moment  the 
monks  were  soundly  drowsing,  they  would  stop  singing 
and  begin  to  play ;  and  when  they  wearied  of  their  games 
would  return  to  their  places  and  call  out  as  loudly  as  pos- 
sible, "  Let  us  bless  the  Lord  !  "  At  this  all  the  monks 
would  arouse  themselves  with  a  start,  respond,  "  Thanks 
be  to  God !  ' '  and  so,  in  the  comfortable  persuasion  that  the 
service  had  been  properlj'  performed,  would  tumble  back 
to  bed. 

But  so  far  as  the  troubadour  was  concerned  it  was  too 
late  now  for  this  kind  of  existence,  and  the  rascal  set  his 
wits  at  work  to  find  some  avenue  of  escape.  Naturally 
enough  their  labor  ended  in  a  poem. 

One  daj',  sang  the  poet,  he  found  himself  in  Paradise, 
and  very  happj^  too  ;  for  the  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth  re- 
ceived him  lovingly  and  said  :  "  What  brings  you  here. 
Monk  ?  and  how  is  Montaudon,  where  you  have  more 
people  [than  I  have  in  heaven]  ?  " 

"  Lord,  I  've  been  on  ni}^  knees  in  the  cloister  for  a  year 
or  two,  and  the  result  is  that  by  loving  and  serving  you 
I  've  lost  the  friendship  of  the  barons,  and  I  believe  in  mj- 
heart  that  the  lord  of  Paris  misses  me." 

"  Monk,  I  don't  thank  you  for  shutting  yourself  up  in 


The  Monk  of  Montaudon  ii 

a  cloister  when  3'Oii  might  be  out  and  about,  fighting  and 
lampooning  and  wrangling  with  your  neighbors  ;  for  I 
love  a  song  and  a  laugh  ;  they  do  the  world  good,  and 
Montaudon  has  the  benefit." 

"  Lord,  I  'm  in  fear  of  sinning  if  I  make  verses  and 
songs,  for  the  man  that  lies  knowingly  forfeits  j'our  love  ; 
so  I  've  stopped  the  business.  The  world  hates  me  not, 
but  I  've  gone  back  to  the  reading-lesson  and  giv^en  up 
trips  to  Spain." 

"  Monk,  you  've  done  ver\'  wrong.  You  ought  to  have 
hastened  gladly  to  the  court  of  King  Richard,  who  was 
so  good  a  friend  to  j'ou.  I  warrant  3'ou  he  would  drive 
that  idea  out  of  j'our  head.  Ah,  how  many  a  good  mark 
sterling  he  has  lost  in  presents  to  you  !  And  it  was  he 
that  got  3'ou  up  from  the  mire." 

"  Lord,  I  surely  would  have  gone  to  him  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  you.  It  is  5-our  fault, — his  getting  into  prison. 
You  don't  seem  to  consider  what  the  Saracen  fleet  is 
doing.  If  it  reaches  Acre  the  base  Turk  is  going  to  win 
again.  Oh,  the  man  is  a  fool  that  follows  you  into  a 
scrape  !  "^ 

Richard  was,  indeed,  in  captivity  just  then,  but  there 
was  another  good  fellow  still  on  a  throne.  So  one  day  the 
Monk  trudged  over  to  Orlac  once  more,  recounted  to  the 
abbot  all  the  benefits  his  wandering  minstrelsy  had 
brought  the  monaster}',  recited  this  poem,  I  dare  saj',  and 
begged  a  transfer  to  another  superior.  "  And  who  is 
he?"  cried  the  abbot.  "King  Amfos,"  answered  the 
wag."  The  prayer  granted,  he  hastened  to  Barcelona. 
Fancy  the  droller}-  in  his  face  as  he  knelt  for  the  com- 
mands of  his  new  abbot.  The  commands  were  prompt  : 
he  should  eat  meat,  court  the  ladies,  make  verses,  and 
sing. 

The  Monk,  you  have  discovered,  was  on  a  very  easy 
footing  in  heaven, — or,  to  put  it  seriously,  his  irreverence 


12 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


is  shocking.  And  yet  we  must  not  condemn  him  without 
reflection.  It  was  a  curious  mark  of  the  time  that  while 
authority  and  lordship  were  profoundly  respected  in  fact, 
there  was  no  little  freedom  of  manner  toward  the  rulers. 
The  household  of  a  baron  were  most  dutifully  obedient. 

His  will  was  absolute  and  unre- 
sisted; and  yet  he  tolerated  an 
easy  and  even  amusing  familiar- 
it)^  such  as  a  master  of  to-day 
would  not  permit.  Probabh^  the 
ver\-  consciousness  of  fidelity 
made  his  people  feel  that  laxness 
in  trifles  was  no  more  than  fair 
and  the  lord's  consciousness  of 
power  enabled  him  to  endure  and 
perhaps  enjoy  it.  The  same 
principle  appears  to  have  held  in 
religion.  The  jNIysteries  and 
Miracle  Plays,  for  example,  were 
serious  and  even  pious  works, 
and  yet  they  display  what  seems 
at  first  like  irreverence  and  out- 


*>  -    -^  "o-        — 


KEEP  OF  ST.  ETIENNE. 


rage. 


Reassured  by  these  considerations  we  follow  the  ]\Ionk 
again  to  heaven.  What  do  you  suppose  he  finds  engaging 
attention  there  ?  You  cannot  guess  ;  the  Supreme  Judge 
has  brought  the  fair  sex  before  his  tribunal  on  the  charge 
— -of  painting  their  faces.' 

Devices  to  conceal  ugliness  are  about  as  ancient,  no 
doubt,  as  the  wish  to  appear  beautiful  ;  and  in  the  age  of 
the  troubadours,  especially  as  the  thirteenth  century  ap- 
proached, the  oversights  of  nature  and  the  ravages  of  time 
were  met  with  a  courage  and  perseverance  not  surpassed 
in  our  own  day.  If  the  women  painted,  the  men  quite  as 
faithfully   dyed   their   hair.      Tooth-powders,    perfumes, 


Devices  to  Enhance  Beauty  13 

cosmetics,  pomades,  depilatories,  unguents  for  the  lips, 
dyes,  and  various  other  contrivances  were  eagerly'  used, 
and  the  ladies  understood  quite  well  that  a  long  skirt  or 
a  pile  of  hair  would  ameliorate  shortness  of  stature. 

The  natural  consequence  was  a  disposition  to  ridicule 
these  innocent  devices. 

One  day  a  magistrate  saw  the  paint  thick  and  still  moist 
on  the  face  of  a  lad}-  near  him,  and  making  a  hole  in  a 
cushion  he  blew  the  feathers  against  her  cheek.  She  felt 
them  sticking  there  and  attempted  to  brush  them  awaj^ 
Alas  for  her  pride  !  As  the  narrator  gleefully  concludes, 
she  soon  looked  "  like  a  patched  image." 

If  a  woman  undertook  to  pile  the  hair  too  high  upon 
her  crown,  some  one  would  very  likely  repeat  this  tale  : 
"  Once  there  was  a  certain  holy  man  who  gained  the  repu- 
tation of  working  miracles,  and  after  much  urging  he 
undertook  to  help  a  young  lad}^  greath'  afflicted  with 
headaches.  No  sooner  did  he  see  the  stately  edifice  of 
her  coiffure  than  he  divined  the  cause  of  the  trouble. 
'  Promise  me  first,  madam,  to  remove  all  these  vain  orna- 
ments, all  this  loft}'  scaffolding  that  surmounts  your  head, 
and  then  I  will  pra}'  for  yon  with  the  greatest  confidence.' 
But  the  sacrifice  was  too  great  and  she  refused.  Before 
long,  however,  the  pain  returned  and  became  more  terri- 
ble than  ever.  The  holy  man  was  recalled  ;  and  the 
sufferer — casting  before  him  the  false  hair,  the  gilded 
bands,  and  the  rest — .swore  never  to  put  on  the  like  again. 
The  worker  of  miracles  then  set  himself  to  pray,  and — the 
miracle  was  wrought." 

Another  tale  was  not  less  popular.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  the 
Devil  was  heard  roaring  with  laughter  one  day.  "  What 
are  j'ou  laughing  at,  pray?"  asked  one  who  .stood  by. 
"  Laughing  at  ?  Why,  one  of  my  imps  has  been  riding 
about  this  long  while  on  a  lady's  train  ;  and  just  now, 
when  she  lifted  it  at  a  muddy  spot  in  the  road,  he  fell  off 


14  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

and  got  covered  with  mire.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  The  pleasure 
of  wearing  a  train  was  notably  diminished  by  hearing  this 
jest  behind  one's  back/ 

But  it  is  in  heaven  that  we  find  ounselves  now,  spec- 
tators in  the  supreme  tribunal  of  the  universe.  Or, 
rather,  it  is  the  Monk  telling  us  what  he  saw  there.  With 
what  a  gusto  he  launches  forth  in  the  very  rhythm  of 
Burns' s  Address  to  the  Z>^'z7— so  far  as  Provencal  pros- 
ody allowed — and  with  just  the  same  contempt  for 
elegance. 

The  accusers  are  the  painted  images  of  the  churches,  for 
the  ladies  daub  their  faces,  it  is  charged,  until  the  images 
are  put  out  of  countenance.  Painting  was  invented  for 
them,  and  the  ladies  have  no  business  with  it.  But  the 
accused  are  not  slow  to  repl}-.  Painting  was  theirs  a  hun- 
dred years  before  there  was  an  image  in  the  world,  big  or 
little,  they  say,  "  and  that 's  the  truth."  Then  one  sharp 
tongue,  unawed  by  the  hosts  of  heaven,  speaks  up  alone  : 
"  How  do  I  injure  you,  I  'd  like  to  know,  if  I  do  paint  out 
the  wrinkle  under  my  eye,  so  that  I  can  still  hold  up  my 
head  among  folks  ?  " 

"  Come,  images,"  says  the  Judge  amiably,  "if  it  's 
agreeable  to  you,  let  every  woman  paint  for  twenty  years 
after  she  's  twenty-five." 

' '  Not  by  any  manner  of  means, ' '  they  cr}^  out  all  to- 
gether, "  but  to  please  you,  we  '11  give  them  ten  3'ears  ; 
only  understand  they  must  let  us  alone  after  that." 

It  looks  like  trouble,  but  happil}'  St.  Peire  and  St. 
Laurent  intervene  and  arrange  a  compromise  :  the  ladies 
are  given  fifteen  years. 

But  it  was  all  a  waste  of  time,  says  our  poet,  for  none 
of  them  kept  the  agreement.  With  white  and  vermilion 
they  covered  chin  and  face.  Saffron  and  quicksilver  were 
mixed  and  laid  on.  Nor  were  these  by  any  means  their 
only  cosmetics. 


The  Monk  of  MonLaudon  15 

Mare's  milk  they  thicken,  as  you  see, 
With  beans,  (on  which  so  often  we 

Poor  monks  would  sup,) 
And  then  declare  't  was  charity 

That  used  them  up. 

So  many  unguents  thej'  prepare — 
Believe  me,  for  'tis  true,  I  swear, — 

That  each  could  show 
Three  hundred  boxes  tied  with  care, 

As  boxes  go. 

They  've  made  the  price  of  saffron  rise ; 
'T  were  better  spent  in  seasoning  pies  ; 

If  they  must  use  it. 
Armed  let  them  sail  to  find  the  prize, 

And  fight  or  lose  it.'' 

Still  asrain  the  troubadour  asceuds  to  the  heavenlv 
coitrt,  and  once  more  the  heinous  crime  of  painting  is  the 
issue  on  trial.  On  this  occasion  he  takes  the  side  of  the 
ladies,  and  observes  : 

"  Lord,  3'Oti  must  make  some  allowance  for  them  ;  it  is 
a  part  of  their  nature  to  love  adonnnent. " 

"  Monk,"  answers  God,  "  you  reason  ill : 
'T  is  not  true  that  any  creature 
May  improve  its  form  or  feature 
Unless  that  be  my  own  good  will  ; 
For  all  the  race  from  Adam  sprung 
Must  age  each  day, — 't  is  my  decree  ; 
And  ladies  would  my  equals  be 
If  they  could  make  themselves  grow  young."  ' ' 

But  the  Monk  is  not  silenced,  and  he  drily  observes  that 
the  Lord  speaks  roundl}'  because  he  feels  himself  in  au- 
thorit}';  btit  all  the  same,  if  he  would  prevent  the  ladies 
from  painting,  he  mtist  either  abolish  the  art  entirely  or 
make  beaut}'  endure  as  long  as  life. 

The  Monk  of  IMontatidon  was  one  of  those  men  who 


i6  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

divide  all  things  into  two  classes  :  those  the}-  like  and 
those  they  hate,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  about  recording 
his  opinions.  Those  he  liked  were, — well,  just  what  you 
would  suppose  :  a  frank,  well-bred  lady,  good  at  repartee, 
a  big  salmon  at  dinner-time,  a  rich  man  disposed  to  be 
amiable,  a  good  sleep  while  it  stormed,  and  in  summer  to 
sit  with  a  friendly  dame  beside  a  fountain  or  stream  where 
the  grass  was  green,  the  flowers  bright,  and  the  birds 
tuneful. 

The  things  he  hated  were  not  so  few  :  much  talk  and 
poor  service,  much  water  in  little  wine,  much  pot  and 
little  meat,  a  long  table  with  a  short  cloth,  a  bearded 
monk,  a  lady  poor  and  proud,  a  husband  over- fond  of  his 
wife,  a  base  man  wearing  dignities,  a  lying  priest,  a  bad 
fiddler  at  a  good  court,  a  dog  that  bites  before  he  barks, 
discord  among  friends,  a  lord  who  shaves  badly,  a  young 
fellow  in  love  with  the  turn  of  his  leg,  to  gallop  over  ice, 
to  ride  in  a  storm  without  a  cape,  to  wait  in  port  for  the 
weather  to  clear,  to  hear  ill  spoken  of  dice,  a  number  of 
things  not  mentionable  in  good  society-,  and — most  annoy- 
ing of  all — a  lord  who  cannot  go  to  sleep  when  he  is  sleepy, 
but  insists — I  suppose  he  means — on  being  entertained  by 
his  weary  guest,  our  poet. 

Seven  centuries  ago,  and  yet  how  personal,  how  real, 
how  vivid  this  is  !  Not  history  to  be  sure  ;  all  trivial, 
ever\^-day,  commonplace  ;  and  3^et  it  gives  us  the  feeling 
that  human  beings  wore  the  bliaut,  swung  the  sword,  and 
played  the  viol  in  that  distant  age.  It  may  not  be  history-, 
but  it  is — life. 

At  Le  Puy  in  .southern  Auvergne  (Velay)  there  was 
held  for  many  years  an  annual  assemblj'  of  lords,  poets, 
ladies,  knights,  musicians,  and  the  public  in  general,  at 
which  trials  of  talent  and  skill  took  place  and  prizes  were 
awarded.  The  expenses  of  the  festival  were  considerable, 
and  each  year  they  were  borne  by  ,some  baron  eager  to 


The  Monk  f)f  Montaiidon  17 

distinguish  himself  as  a  liberal  and  cultured  gentleman. 
The  form  of  undertaking  this  burden  was  curious  and  in 
harmony  with  the  time  :  a  sparrow-hawk  was  presented 
before  the  assembly,  and  the  generous  volunteer  came 
forward  and  unfastened  the  bird  from  its  perch.  Four 
judges  or  lords  directed  and  controlled  this  assembly, 
known  far  and  near  as  the  Court  of  Le  Puy. 

Who  could  preside  more  fitly  over  such  an  affair  than 
the  Monk  of  Montaudon  ?  As  a  hearty  liver,  he  possessed 
the  something  that  endears  Mine  Host.  As  a  poet,  he 
could  pass  upon  verse.  As  a  man  familiar  with  courts,  he 
could  regulate  the  forms.  Withal  a  churchman,  he  could 
if  need  be  assume  the  air  and  perform  the  office  of  a  priest. 
Very  naturall}-  then  he  became  a  Judge  in  the  Court  of  Le 
Puy,  and  it  was  he  that  had  charge  of  the  sparrow-hawk. 

For  many  years,  we  read,  he  occupied  this  post, — in 
fact  until  the  assemblies  came  to  an  end.  Then  he  betook 
himself  once  more  to  Spain,  and  in  all  the  Spanish  king- 
doms enjoyed  the  favor  of  barons  and  princes.  Finally 
the  abbot  of  Orlac  set  him  over  a  priory  at  Villafranca  in 
that  region,  and  after  making  the  brotherhood  strong  and 
rich  he  was  finally  laid  at  rest  there. 

A  man  of  energy  was  the  Monk  of  Montaudon,  a  man 
of  power,  a  Shakespearean  character  whom  the  company 
of  the  troubadours  could  ill  spare  ;  yet  as  you  have  noted 
he  was  a  troubadour  apart.  No  mention  has  been  made 
of  his  love-songs,  and  that  for  a  good  reason  :  he  made 
none  worthy  of  remark. 

Being  a  poet  he  was  required  by  usage  to  pay  homage 
to  lyOv^e,  and  as  titular  ladies  of  his  affections  he  addressed 
poems  to  Maria  de  Ventadorn  and  one  of  her  sisters. 
They  were  wholly  formal,  however."  His  expressions 
were  either  far-fetched,  commonplace,  or  borrowed.  They 
were  like  portraits  painted  from  lay-figures, — the  real 
man  was  not  in  them,  and  that  was  precisely  because  the 

VOL.    II. ~2. 


1 8  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

real  man  had  not  sufficient  elevation  of  sentiment  for  love. 
I  have  kept  out  of  sight  the  shadows  of  his  character,  but 
as  I  said  in  the  beginning  they  were  profound.  He  was 
a  bad  man,  positively  and  thoroughly  vicious.  The 
taverns  knew  him  w^ell,  and  so  did  places  worse  than 
taverns  ;  and  some  of  his  poems  would  send  him  to  the 
state-prison  today,  I  suppose.  Not  without  reason  did 
some  one  add  to  his  piece  on  the  troubadours  this  charac- 
terization of  himself:  "The  false  Monk  of  Montaudon 
who  quarrels  and  wrangles  with  everybody.  He  has  for- 
saken God  for  a  side  of  bacon,  and  ought  to  be  hung  up 
in  the  wind  [on  a  gibbet]  for  meddling  with  poetry."  '- 

Apparently  he  felt  that  love,  if  he  could  onh-  attain  to 
it,  might  be  the  salvation  of  him.  Francesco  da  Barberino 
recorded  this  remark  of  his  :  "  If  I  follow  thee,  Love,  it 
is  that  thou  mayest  be  a  curb  for  me  against  vice,  and  a 
delightful  path  to  the  virtues,  and  not  that  I  hope  by 
thine  aid  to  acquire  glory";  but  he  was  only  able  to 
follow  afar  off,  and  that,  as  we  see,  but  fitfully  and  coldly. 
The  dewy  mornings  of  innocent  Vic,  the  fresh  breezes  of 
the  valley,  and  the  mountain  thyme  bruised  by  his  young 
feet  had  left  something  in  his  veins  ;  but  it  was  onl}^  a 
trace,  only  a  wandering  perfume.  This  monk,  this  prior, 
moral  enough  to  be  a  churchman,  was  not  moral  enough 
to  be  a  poet  of  love.  lyike  a  knife  this  keen  truth  cleaves 
the  age.  We  see  on  one  side  its  piety  and  on  the  other 
we  see  that  in  terms  of  human  nature,  theologj-  apart,  its 
poetry  was  better.  To  speak  more  accurately,  we  see  that 
poetry  exacted  a  higher  morality  than  priesthood. 

Certainly  the  troubadours  lived  in  an  age  still  ver>'' 
rude  ;  certainly  they  were  not  saints  ;  but  their  office  and 
mission  did  require  a  tension  of  mind,  an  aspiration  of  de- 
sire, a  loftiness  of  sentiment,  and  a  devotion  of  will  wholly 
incompatible  with  base  living.  We  can  appreciate  now 
the  morality — the  essential  virtue — of  Arnaut  de  Maruelh, 


The  Monk  of  Montaudon  19 

of  Raimbaut  de  Vaqueiras,  of  Guilhein  de  Cabestaing. 
They  shine  out  like  angels  of  light  against  the  background 
of  brutishness.  Their  gallantry  was  an  immense  advance, 
— the  advance  from  animalism  to  humanit}^  from  appetite 
to  passion,  from  sense  to  sentiment. 

And  yet  there  is  a  word  more  for  the  Monk.  Cathol- 
icism undertook  to  deal  with  life  as  a  whole.  It  assumed 
to  embrace  all  the  faculties  and  powers  of  human  nature. 
"  Let  everything  that  hath  breath  praise  the  Lord,"  it 
commanded, — the  good  and  the  bad,  the  clean  and  the 
unclean.  Not  only  beauty  but  ugliness  was  to  serve  God, 
and  so  gargoyles  were  put  on  -the  churches.  Singular 
applications  of  the  principle  were  inevitable.  Many  a 
slave  has  felt  at  liberty  to  steal  from  his  master,  because 
unconsciously  he  perceived  the  almost  algebraic  axiom 
that  things  belonging  to  the  same  thing  belong  to  each 
other.  In  a  similar  way,  more  or  less  consciously,  the 
Monk  and  his  kind  reflected  once  in  a  while — perhaps  be- 
low consciousness — that  since  they  were  God's  and  God 
wished  every  faculty  of  his  worshippers  to  praise  him,  it 
could  not  be  wrong  to  let  their  appetites  also  be  heard 
from  at  intervals.  If  the  Monk  and  the  stoup  of  wine 
were  both  worshipping  God,  they  might  as  well  worship 
together  now  and  then,  and  a  ribald  song  would  add  the 
incense  of  carnal  but  honest  piety. 

Besides,  as  we  have  tried  to  bear  in  mind,  the  Monk 
was  not  by  any  means  all  hard  and  rough.  The  very 
poem  in  which  he  lampooned  Arnaut  Daniel,  Vidal,  and 
Miraval  contained  a  stanza  on  Arnaut  de  Maruelh,  and  of 
him  the  satirist  only  remarked  gently  that  his  ladj^  should 
pity  the  lover  who  wept  as  he  sang. 

Again,  it  was  he  that  said  :  "A  ba.se  beginning  di.s- 
pleases  me  as  much  as  a  shameful  end."  And  again,  he 
labored  for  his  Order. '^ 

He  was  not  all  bad  :   Rcguicscat  in  pace  !  " 


XXV 

KN  ROUTE,   USSEIv 

Gui  d'Uissel 

THE  greatest,  boldest,  and  sweetest  of  the  troubadours 
are  still  awaiting  us,  but  we  have  now  bidden  fare- 
well to  the  region  commonly  thought  of  as  their  home. 

"  Region,"  I  have  said,  not  "country";  for  the  trou- 
badours had  no  country.  Their  fatherland  was  never  a 
political  unit  and  it  never  possessed  a  name. 

Draw  a  line  from  La  Rochelle  where  the  Three  Guards- 
men performed  such  prodigies,  carry  it  along  to  the  north 
of  Poitiers  and  the  south  of  Lyons,  and  continue  it  east- 
ward to  the  Alps  '  ;  France  below  this  line,  Catalonia  in 
Spain,  and  in  a  sense  the  north  of  Italy,  form  the  land  of 
the  troubadours. 

But  southern  France  was  of  course  distinctively  the 
troubadour  region,  and  we  are  now  about  in  the  centre 
of  it.  Far  to  the  southeast  beyond  the  Rhone  la}-  Pro- 
vence, politically  attached  in  the  days  of  the  troubadours 
to  both  Spain  and  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  but  not  at  all 
to  France.  Directly  south  of  us  extend  the  wide,  rich 
plains  of  Languedoc,  vaguely  tributary  then  to  the  king 
of  Paris,  though  portions  along  the  Mediterranean  owed 
allegiance  to  Aragon.  Westward,  bordering  the  sea,  was 
Aquitaine,  with  Gascony  in  the  south  and  Poitou  in  the 
north,  a  vast  region  that  passed  with  Eleanor  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  twelfth  century  (1152)  to  the  king  of  England. 
Nearer,  to  the  northwest,  lay  the  small  but  verj'  import- 

20 


Their  Geographical  World  21 

ant  province  of  Limousin,  tributary  to  the  duchy  of 
Aquitaine  ;  and  in  the  northeast  rose  the  mountains  of 
Auvergne,'"  for  a  long  time  disputed  ground  between 
France  and  England. 

Of  all  these  territories  Provence  is  the  one  that  seems 
most  isolated,  most  like  a  corner,  and  it  is  interesting  to 
know  why  we  speak  of  the  troubadours  as  Provencal  poets 
and  of  their  land  as  Provence. 

Provence  means  of  course  provincia.  The  Romans 
turned  the  common  into  a  proper  noun,  for  they  had  then 
but  a  single  province,  and  applied  the  name  to  a  strip  of 
territory  along  the  Mediterranean,  which  extended — nar- 
rowing as  it  went — from  the  Alps  to  the  south  of  Narbonne 
(Narbo).  In  the  course  of  time  the  name  experienced  a 
singular  change, — it  grew  smaller  and  it  also  grew  larger. 
On  the  one  hand  it  was  restricted  to  the  territory  east  of 
the  Rhone  ;  on  the  other  hand  it  avenged  this  indignity 
with  true  meridional  irrepressibility  by  vaguely  imposing 
itself  on  a  far  wilder  area,  so  that  often  now,  like  the  con- 
stitution of  the  Felibrige,  "  by  Prov^ence  we  mean  the 
whole  of  southern  France."  ^ 

This  usage  began  at  least  as  early  as  the  troubadour  age. 
At  the  opening  of  the  twelfth  century  Albert  of  Aix  placed 
Le  Puy  in  "  Provence."  Not  long  afterward  Robert  of 
Torigni  referred  in  the  same  fashion  to  Montpellier. 
Etienne  de  Bourbon  spoke  in  a  similar  way  early  in  the 
thirteenth  century  of  the  country  about  Albi.  Raimon 
d' Aiguille  and  the  monk  Robert  of  St.  Remy  de  Reims 
used  the  term  Provinciales  as  a  general  distinction  for  the 
people  of  southern  France.  It  was  a  title  without  real 
foundation,  and  in  some  respects  an  unfortunate  usage  ; 
but  it  was  employed  chiefly  because  there  was  no  better, 
and  for  precisely  that  reason  we  employ  it  still. 

In  today's  journey  we  pass  from  south  to  north,  from 
east  to  west,  from  Provence  and  Languedoc  to  Auvergne, 


'yo 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Limousin,  and  Aquitaine;  and  the  route  is  a  worthy  pivot 
for  the  two  halves  of  troubadour  France.  Here  is  the 
finest  and  I  suppose  the  least  visited  region  of  the  Midi. 
Artists,  bring  your  sketch-books  here;  poets,  bring  weari- 
ness here,  and  go  back  with  joy.  The  scenery  is  delight- 
ful, superb,  and  romantic  ;  but  that  is  only  the  beginning. 

There  is  fine  scenery 
— almost  as  fine  as 
this  —  in  N  e  w  Eng- 
land. But  this  is  a 
book  filled  with  tales 
and  poetry  of  a  long 
historic  past,  and  New 
England  is  onlj-  the 
fair  cover  of  a  book. 
Nowhere  do  we  feel 
ourselves  closer  than 
here  to  a  strong  and 
picturesque  "  middle 
Eess  devastated  b}-  wars  than  other  parts  of  France, 
because  remote,  mountainous,  and  in  comparison  poor,  this 
district  long  preserved  the  monuments  of  its  past  ;  and  at 
present  not  only  far  more  is  left  than  elsewhere,  but  the 
ruins  have  been  adorned  by  time  rather  than  mutilated  by 
human  violence. 

Such  is  the  panorama  all  the  way  from  Gaillac. 
Toward  the  right  the  dark  valley  of  the  Tarn  leads 
up  to  Albi,  its  history,  and  its  cathedral.  Here  is 
Cahuzac,  with  three  old  castles  ;  and  here  pretty  Cordes 
against  the  sky,  its  walls  and  houses  a  text-book 
of  mediaeval  architecture.  Now  the  bold  valley  of  the 
Aveyron  opens  to  the  left,  and  we  might  go  down  toward 
Agen,  if  we  chose,  through  a  serial  story  of  thrilling  his- 
tory illustrated  on  every  page  with  donjons  and  ramparts 
frowning  from  the  crags.     Here  is  Najac  astride  its  moun- 


NAJAC. 


age 


En  Route 


23 


tain,  so  mighty  a  fortress,  as  Professor  Monteils  has  re- 
minded lis,  that  a  revolutionary  army  which  had  sworn  to 
destroy  it  found  gunpowder  unequal  to  the  task.  A  little 
farther,  and  through  the  valley  on  the  right — its  crimson 
soil  checkered  with  vineyards  and  grain-fields — we  might 
revisit  the  home  of  Bru- 
nenc,  the  seat  of  the  counts 
of  Rodez.  Crossing  and  re- 
crossing  the  river  by  nine 
bridges,  and  plunging  nine 
times  through  the  mount- 
ains, we  arrive  at  Capdenac 
— where  Sully  lived — with 
its  Roman  relics,  its  broken 
walls,  its  rusty  fetters,  and 
its  vociferous  geese.  The 
river  bathing  the  slopes  is 
the  poetic  Lot,  and  we  can 
hardl}'  refrain  from  pursu- 
ing it  down  to  St.  Cirq, 
Cahors  —  the  birthplace  of 
Gambetta  —  P  e  n  n  e,  and 
Villeneuve,  but  we  press 
on  for  still  better  things. 
Two  more  tunnels  and  we 
are  at  Figeac,  its  ancient 
houses  antithesized  with 
most  contemporary  vegeta- 
tion clinging  to  their  stones.  On  the  left  is  the  road 
to  wonderful  Rocamadour — a  delight  in  store  for  us — 
while  we  turn  to  the  right  for  another  of  the  towns  in 
-ac,—as  countless  here  as  the  towns  in  -bojcrg  on  the  up- 
per Sa6ne.  More  gorges,  more  castles,  more  bridges,  and 
more  tunnels  bring  us  to  Aurillac,  and  the  familiar  name 
helps  us  get  our  breath  at  last. 


POLMINHAC. 


24  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Here  opens  the  valley  of  the  Cere,  and  we  New  Kng- 
landers  find  ourselves  greeted  with  a  homelike  welcome. 
For  the  first  time  we  see  the  maidenly  white  birches  of  our 
own  woods.  As  at  home  the  fields  are  divided  with 
fences  ;  as  at  home  cows  graze  in  the  pastures  or  wait  at 
the  bars.  But  there  is  always  a  surplusage  of  history  and 
picturesqueness  here.  Roofs  of  thatch  begin  to  suggest 
not  only  the  chill  but  the  coziness  of  winter,  and  even 
little  Polminhac,  ,so  out-of-the-world  a  village,  has  its 
castle  on  the  hill,  looking  down  upon  the  random  cottages 
and  reminding  us  of  past  centuries  full  of  courage  and 
adventure. 

It  is  perfectly  certain  that  when  the  troubadours  jour- 
ne3'ed  to  and  fro  along  this  route  many  a  keen  saying  and 
many  a  laugh  went  round,  and  though  we  travel  now  by 
the  rail,  humor  is  not  impossible.  At  one  of  our  halting- 
places  I  observed  on  the  gate  of  the  H6tel-de-Ville  a  sign  : 
"  Closed  for  repairs."  An  honest  laborer  was  at  work 
near  b}-,  and  I  remarked,  ' '  Pretty  early  for  repairs,  is  it 
not  ?  The  building  seems  almost  new."  The  honest 
laborer  straightened  his  back  slowl}-,  and  then  glancing 
first  at  me  and  afterward  all  around  him  answered  with 
an  indescribable  air:  "  The  town-hall  is  well  enough,  that 
is  true  ;  what  needs  repairs  is  the  town  council." 

At  another  place  we  entered  a  cabaret  for  something  to 
refresh  us,  and  found  a  couple  of  workingmen  in  blouses 
sipping  absinthe  in  deep  meditation.  After  a  while 
Jacques  unpursed  a  corner  of  his  mouth  : 

"  A  new  ministry,  I  hear,  Louis,  up  there  in  Paris." 

"  Ah,  is  that  so?" 

They  sipped  a  few  minutes  more  in  silence. 

"  Jacques,"  cried  Louis  impatiently,  "  I  'm  tired  of  that 
new  ministry.  It  's  no  better  than  the  last  one.  Down 
with  it,  say  I." 

"I,  too,"  replied  Jacques. 


En  Route  2 


:) 


The  halt  over,  we  clambered  into  the  coaches,  the  guard 
for  once  presented  himself  at  the  door,  and  it  came  the 
turn  of  a  little  old  woman,  loaded  with  baskets,  to  show 
her  ticket. 

"  Mais,  madame,'"  said  the  guard,  "  you  've  got  into  a 
first-class  carriage  with  a  ticket  for  the  third." 

"  Tiens,  tiens,''  she  cried,  "  I  thought  it  was  a  second!  " 
confessing  in  her  excitement  the  little  stratagem  she  had 
carefully  planned. 

From  Aurillac  to  Vic  the  valley  widens,  but  the  moun- 
tains are  only  gathering  their  power  for  a  supreme  effort. 
We  have  now  confronting  us  the  dark  volcanic  peaks  of 
the  Cantal.  The  line  passes  through  the  midst  of  them 
between  the  two  highest,  and  rises  to  an  elevation  of 
about  four  thousand  feet.  We  wonder  by  turns  at  the 
grand  bulwarks  of  rock  and  the  triumphant  skill  of  the 
engineers.  The  views  are  alpine.  Deep  valleys,  set  with 
a  few  cottages  in  the  green  spots,  where  once  ran  streams 
of  molten  basalt,  precipitous  mountains  in  Titanic  groups, 
small  rivers  winding  among  the  crags,  cascades,  daint}- 
vales,  bridges,  tunnels,  airy  viaducts,  torrents  roaring 
suddenly  out  in  the  darkness,  abysses  opening  their  jaws 
upon  us  when  least  expected, — it  is  all  a  wonderful  drama, 
swift,  startling,  and  beautiful,  till  finally  we  see  the  colos- 
sal statue  of  the  Virgin  on  the  crag  above  Murat.  Then, 
regretful  though  satisfied,  we  say  good-by  to  dramatic 
poetry  for  the  good  plain  prose  of  a  fair  landscape. 

After  a  while  a  sharp  turn,  and  we  see  the  ruins  of  two 
more  castles.  To  the  left  beyond  the  hills  is  the  famous 
monastery  of  L,a  Chaise  Dieu,  where  Richelieu  and 
Mazarin  were  abbots  in  their  pious  days,  while  on  the 
right,  gathered  about  the  great  old  church  of  St.  Julien, 
lie  the  dark  roofs  of  Brioude.  And  here  we  must  pause  a 
moment,  for  in  that  very  church  officiated  a  troubadour, 
Gui  d'Uissel,  a  canon  of  Brioude  and  Montferrand. 


26 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Ussel,  as  the  place  of  his  birth  is  now  called,  lies  half- 
way across  country  toward  Limoges.  Very  quaint  and 
cozy  it  looks  in  the  distance,  capping  a  low  hill,  a  few  of 
the  grey  old  houses  peering  out  from  the  trees,  and  a  grej- 
old  steeple  rising  above  them.     Cozy  still  and  still  more 

quaint  it  seems  when 
we  are  there.  The 
houses  of  the  older 
part  seem  to  have  been 
arranged  bj-  shaking 
them  outof  a  dice-box, 
but  one  forgives  all 
these  eccentricities  for 
the  sake  of  the  loft)' 
peaks,  the  odd  chim- 
ney's jostling  each 
other  as  if  each  had 
been  a  new  idea,  the 
half-towers  with  odd 
slouchy  caps  on  their 
heads,  and  the  pointed 
doorways  crowned 
with  bits  of  carving. 
It  seems  to  matter  little  if  a  few  panes  of  glass  are  want- 
ing, or  a  whole  window  is  closed  with  storm-worn  boards, 
or  one  leaf  of  a  door  is  taller  than  the  other.  The  old 
town  looks  at  you  with  severe  dignity  :  "  Oh  j^es,  of 
course  if  this  were  America  we  should  have  to  be  trim 
and  fresh.  But  we  are  an  old  family,  you  know.  Our 
position  is  assured.  We  can  afford  to  be  careless  about 
some  trifles  :  nobody  will  criticise  what  we  do." 

For  Ussel  really  is  old.  Down  in  the  little  square  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  j'ou  will  discover  under  the  trees  an 
eagle  of  stone,  which  saw  around  it  once  a  Roman  camp, 
and  now  looks  upon  modern  degeneracy  with  a  surprised 


AT    USSEL. 


Giii  cl'Uissel  27 

and  mournful  air.  Poor  bird,  one  thing  has  not  changed  : 
your  Italians  are  almost  as  hateful  to  the  French  of  today 
as  they  were  to  the  Gauls  of  centuries  ago. 

Canon  Gui  shared  with  two  brothers  and  a  cousin  the 
ownership  of  Uissel  *  and  many  castles  besides,  but  for  all 
that  would  appear  to  have  been  less  affluent  than  he 
wished.  Happily  the  whole  family  were  gifted.  It  is 
said  of  the  cousin,  Elias,  that  his  castle  of  Caslutz  was 
poorly  stocked  with  corn  and  wine,  but  in  place  of  ban- 
queting he  knew  how  to  please  his  guests  with  courteous 
manners,  amusements,  and  songs.  Very  naturally  the 
four  concluded  to  make  their  talents  profitable;  and  form- 
ing themselves  into  a  company,  as  others  had  already 
done,  they  made  a  profession  of  giving  entertainments. 
Gui,  his  cousin,  and  one  of  his  brothers  composed  verses, 
each  in  a  style  of  his  own,  and  the  third  brother  sang  their 
pieces.^  It  is  a  pleasant  picture  to  hang  on  the  wall  of 
just  seven  hundred  years  ago — this  group  of  5'oung  nobles, 
one  of  them  an  ecclesiastic  besides,  journejdng  from  castle 
to  castle,  and  entertaining  the  households  and  the  guests 
of  wealthy  barons  with  original  poetry  sung  to  original 
music. 

Gui  had  several  affairs  of  the  heart.  One  of  his  ladies 
was  close  by, — the  countess  of  Montferrand  and  the  wife 
of  a  certain  dalfin  of  Auvergne  shortly  to  appear.  An- 
other was  the  Viscountess  Margarida,^  whose  castle 
crowned  a  high  sugar-loaf  hill  in  a  rugged  valley  and 
looked  down  upon  the  little  town  of  Aubusson,  founded 
by  Saracen  fugitives  after  the  battle  of  Tours,  and  still 
preserving  evidences  of  its  alien  race.  A  third  love  affair, 
if  we  may  believe  a  late  manuscript,  is  more  interesting 
to  us  though  less  happ}-  for  Gui. 

In  the  diocese  of  Beziers  there  lived  a  young  ladj'  named 
Gidas,  a  niece  of  Count  Guilhem  VIII.  of  Montpellier, 
and  so  a  cousin  to  his  daughter  Maria,  the  wife  of  King 


28  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Peire  of  Aragon.  L,ess  than  six  of  the  troubadours  ad- 
dressed themselves  to  vinmarried  ladies,  but  Sordel  and 
Miraval  were  exceptions,  as  we  have  seen,  and  Gui 
d'Uissel  is  another,  for  Lady  Gidas  won  his  heart.  "  For 
a  long  time  he  loved  and  served  her,  and  made  many  a 
good  song  about  her,  and  gained  her  great  repute  and 
great  praise.  And  when  he  besought  her  she  said  to 
him  :  '  Gui  d'Uissel,  you  are  a  man  of  good  famil}^ 
though  3'Ou  are  a  canon,  and  you  stand  high  in  favor  and 
esteem,  and  so  well  disposed  toward  you  am  I  that  I 
cannot  resist  my  inclination  to  do  whatever  will  please 
you.  I  am  a  rich  lady  and  I  wish  to  marry.  So  I 
tell  you  that  you  may  have  me  as  you  prefer, — 
as  mistress  or  as  wife.  Consider  which  it  shall  be.' 
Gui  was  exceedingly  happy  then,  and  he  asked  ad- 
vice of  his  cousin  Elias  in  a  tenso,"  as  was  done  so  com- 
monly. 

Elias  held  that  marriage  was  better  than  love  without 
marriage,  but  Gui  argued  and  so  persuaded  himself  that 
a  lover  was  more  blessed  than  a  husband.  He  announced 
his  decision  to  Lady  Gidas,  and  thereupon  she  cuttingly 
dismissed  him,  and  bestowed  her  person  and  her  wealth 
upon  a  knight  of  Catalonia.' 

The  blow  struck  home,  and  for  a  long  while  our  poet 
gave  up  his  art  and  went  about  in  deep  despondency.  But 
one  day,  as  it  chanced,  he  found  himself  at  the  castle  of 
Maria  de  Ventadorn,'  and  she,  to  draw  him  from  a  state 
of  gloom  that  all  regretted,  challenged  him  to  a  tenso. 
She  had  been  discussing  a  point  of  courtly  love  with  her 
particular  friend,  and  as  they  could  not  agree  she  de- 
manded Gui's  opinion  :  should  mistress  do  as  much  for 
lover,  as  lover  should  for  mistress  ?  Yes,  replied  Gui,  in 
friendship  there  should  be  strict  equality.  But,  she  re- 
joined, lovers  present  themselves  on  their  knees,  palms 
together,  in  the  posture  of  suppliants  ;  and  if  they  offer 


Giii  d'Uissel  29 

themselves  as  servants  and  then  claim  equality  they  are 
no  less  than  traitors. 

But  Gui  was  smarting  just  enough  from  his  wounds  to 
enjoy  speaking  his  mind.  "  Lady,"  he  declared,  "  it  is 
truly  a  shameful  plea,  quite  after  a  woman's  fashion,  that 
he  who  has  made  one  heart  of  two  is  not  to  be  regarded 
as  an  equal.  Kither  you  will  say — what  will  not  become 
you — that  the  man  is  to  love  more  sincerely  [than  the 
woman],  or  you  will  say  that  they  are  equal;  for  the  man 
owes  nothing  except  from  love."  " 

Such  a  speech  betrays  a  heretical  bent,  and  this  in  the 
end  made  trouble  for  the  noble  company  of  entertainers. 
The)'  sang  against  the  tyrann}'  of  princes,  it  appears,  and 
the  abuses  of  the  Church.  This  was  attacking  the  founda- 
tions of  things,  and  a  legate  of  the  pope  constrained  them 
to  abandon  their  pursuit  and  even  bound  them  with  an 
oath  to  sing  no  more.  Consoled  with  an  abundance  of 
fame  and  of  riches  they  retired  from  public  life,  went  home 
to  their  castles,  and  spent  the  rest  of  their  days,  we  may 
assume,  in  elegant  leisure. 

Meanwhile,  Gui's  Brioude  has  been  left  behind.  We 
are  now  traversing  the  far  highlands  of  troubadour-land, 
Auvergne, — speeding  toward  ancient  L,e  Puy,  where  the 
Monk  of  Montaudon  was  a  lord  of  the  Court.  On  either 
side  are  broad  and  fertile  fields,  but  little  by  little  the 
country  becomes  hil)}^  and  then  mountainous,  and  far 
away,  though  grand  in  spite  of  distance,  there  appears  a 
solitary  tower  on  a  vast  pedestal  of  rock. 

"  Polignac,"  says  an  obliging  fellow-traveller. 

We  are  now  in  a  gorge.  Near  at  hand  we  pass  a  .sightly 
castle. 

"  St.  Vidal,  the  most  expo.sed  yet  best  preserved  of  all 
the  castles  in  the  region." 

Here  are  three  banks,  one  above  another,  of  basalt 
prisms,  that  look  like  organ  pipes. 


30  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

"  lyCS  Orgues  [the  organ]  they  are  called." 

Suddenly  our  interest  becomes  astonishment. 

"  Espaly." 

Then  the  gorge  is  flung  open  all  at  once  like  the  gates 
of  a  palace  courtj^ard.  The  line  of  the  road  sweeps 
around  a  mighty  semicircle,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  vast 
amphitheatre  of  hills  and  mountains  appear  St.  Michel 
and  lyC  Puy. 


XXVI 

LE   PUY,    ST.    MICHEL,    AND   ESPALY 

Peire  Cardinal 

POSITIVELY,  we  were  startled.  Ee  Puy,  St.  Michel, 
and  Espaly — well,  come  and  see  them.  Of  course 
geologists  have  their  dull  theory,  but  nobody  listens  to 
them  ;  it  was  all  the  achievement  of  some  bold  volcanoes 
out  for  a  frolic.  Man  has  taken  the  hint  and  the  epilogue 
is  his  ;  but  the  drama — however  sensational — is  nature's 
own.' 

But  let  us  confine  ourselves  to  Le  Puy. 

A  city  leading  up  to  a  cathedral  ;  a  cathedral  leading 
up  to  a  mountain  ;  a  mountain  leading  up  to  a  colossal 
statue  of  the  Mother  of  God  :  this  is  Ee  Puy, — and  at 
night  the  Mother  of  God  leading  up  to  the  stars.  Is  the 
expression  over-bold  ?  Unless  it  were,  it  would  not  be 
bold  enough. 

In  all  ways  Ee  Pu}'  is  a  most  surprising  place.  Every- 
thing is  odd  and  many-cornered,  and  even  the  most  ordi- 
nary affairs  are  twisted  into  exciting  shapes. 

Hark,  what  is  that  frightful  noise,— thunder  ?  There 
was  no  lightning. 

Hailstones  as  big  as  butternuts  on  the  roofs  ?  There 
is  no  sound  of  breaking  glass. 

Half-a-dozen  houses  falling  into  their  cellars  ?  There 
are  no  screams. 

Ah,  it  is  merely  a  parcel  of  schoolboys  in  their  wooden 

31 


32 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


shoes,  rattling  down  over  the  cobblestones  of  the  steep 
street  around  the  corner  ;  the  noise  of  their  feet  and  their 
throats,  resounding  from  archways,  reverberating  from 
dark  passages,  doubled  and  redoubled  in  the  echoes  of 
tall  houses  and  narrow  streets,  becomes  like  the  roar  of 


LE    PUY. 

a  terrible  dragon  gnashing  five  hundred  iron  teeth  and 
shaking  five  thousand  brazen  scales. 

No  two  persons  agree  in  L,e  Puy  as  to  the  way  one 
should  go.  This  man  says,  "To  the  right";  but  an- 
other man  overhears  him  and  calls  out,  "  No,  monsieur, 
to  the  left."  We  conclude  there  are  two  ways  and  both 
right,  but  later  find  there  are  many  ways  and  all  wrong. 
"  Straight  ahead  ;  you  can't  possibl}'  miss  it,"  signifies 
ten  steps  forward,  a  circuit  of  one  hundred  and  eighty 
degrees,  a  dive  at  right  angles  under  half-a-dozen  arch- 
ways, a  series  of  zigzags  through  blind  alleys,  and  finally 
a  stiff  climb  up  the  path  of  a  corkscrew. 

But  what  a  view  when  we  are  out  of  the  cork  ! 


Le  Puy  33 

We  are  now  on  the  top  of  the  Rock  Corneille,  on  the 
summit  of  Mount  Anis,  at  an  elevation  of  two  thousand 
five  hundred  feet.  Seventy- two  feet  above  us  towers  the 
figure  of  the  Virgin,  Notre  Dame  de  France,  cast  from 
over  two  hundred  Russian  cannon  taken  at  Sebastopol. 
And  around  us — if  we  do  not  see  the  whole  earth,  it  is 
only  because  the  horizon  is  filled  with  mountains,  hills, 
and  castles. 

"  Nothing,"  said  George  Sand,  "  can  give  an  idea  of 
the  picturesque  beauty  of  this  basin  of  I^e  Puy  ;  not 
Switzerland,  for  it  is  less  terrible  ;  not  Italy,  for  it  is  more 
beautiful  ;  it  is  middle  France  with  all  its  volcanoes 
extinguished,  and  clothed  with  a  splendid  verdure." 

For  this  was  in  fact  a  region  of  volcanoes.  Their 
broken  craters  now  shape  the  landscape,  and  the  cool 
green  meadows  are  spread  upon  lava.  "  The  walnut 
strikes  its  root  into  the  clefts  of  the  basalt,  and  wheat 
springs  up  out  of  the  pumice-stone."  "  Auvergne,"  says 
De  Pradt,  "is  a  vast,  extinguished  conflagration." 
Everywhere  the  teeth  of  flame  have  left  their  marks  ;  and 
as  one  looks  at  the  rich  valleys  and  blooming  slopes  one 
thinks  of  the  lion  that  David  slew,  which  became  a  hiving- 
place  for  bees  :  "  Out  of  the  eater  came  forth  meat,  and 
out  of  the  strong  came  forth  sweetness." 

At  our  feet  is  the  cathedral.  On  the  right  in  the  fau- 
bourg stands  the  little  Temple  of  Diana,  as  it  is  called, 
where  the  catechumens  of  the  Knights  Templar  wor- 
shipped,— a  reminder  that  the  great  Order  was  born  here 
within  the  cast  of  a  stone.  Near  by,  in  a  venerable  church 
just  outside  the  Porte  Pannessac,  is  the  tomb  where  Du 
Guesclin,  the  terrible  scourge  of  the  English  armies,  was 
laid,  and  a  little  way  off  rises  the  strange  Needle  of  St. 
Michel,'  crowned  with  an  oval  church  begun  (862)  while 
the  earlv  Saxon  kings  reigned  in  England. 

Follow  now  the  river  Borne  which  flows  hard  bv  the 


34 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Needle.  About  half  a  mile  from  Le  Puy  lies  the  villas^e 
of  St.  Marcel,  and  with  our  glass  we  can  make  out  the 
women  sitting  at  their  doors  and  gossiping.  But  it  is  not 
idleness  :  they  are  deftly  weaving  lace.     Thirty  thousand 


THE    ROCK    OF    ESPALY. 


lace-makers  are  said  to  be  at  work  in  this  region,  and 
every  year  their  lot  is  harder,  for  the  machines  at  Calais 
weave  more  .swiftly  than  they  can  and  eat  less  than  they 
must.  It  is  Andromeda  and  the  dragon  once  more,  but 
no  Perseus  yet  in  sight. 


Le  Puy  35 

Andromeda  ?  Yes,  and  there,  just  across  the  Borne,  is 
a  cliff  high  enough  for  all  the  Andromedas,  the  great  Rock 
of  Kspal}'.  A  church  crowns  the  top  now,  and  above  it 
is  St.  Joseph,  looking  over  to  Our  Ladj^  of  France  on  the 
Rocher  Corneille  ;  but  enough  remains  of  the  old  walls  to 
recall  the  past.  Once  a  redoubtable  fortress  occupied  the 
height,  and  in  the  hall  of  the  castle  a  beaten  and  well-nigh 
disheartened  prince  was  raised  on  a  shield  by  his  followers, 
and  proclaimed  "  Charles  the  Seventh,  King  of  France." 
From  that  rock  dates  the  stor}-  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  and 
Reims  completed  the  ceremony  begun  at  Espal}^ 

Now  take  one  more  sweep  of  valley,  hills,  and  moun- 
tains, pausing  long  at  the  mighty  donjon  of  Polignac,  and 
then  let  us  go  down  to  the  cathedral. 

Notre  Dame  du  Puy,  how  shall  I  describe  it  ?  It  is  not 
to  be  described. 

Centuries  planned  and  generations  built  this  maze  of 
architecture.  As  an  edifice  it  might  be  critici.sed  ;  as  a 
personality  it  is  beyond  criticism.  The  one  hundred  and 
thirty-four  steps  by  which  the  nave  is  approached,  the 
great  vaulted  porch,  the  six  Byzantine  domes,  the  lofty 
transitional  tower  in  seven  stages,  the  cupolas,  the  singu- 
lar apse,  the  shrines,  the  statue  of  the  Virgin,  the  double 
chapels,  the  votive  offerings  hanging  on  the  pillars,  the 
ancient  baptistry,  the  chapter-house,  the  cloister,  the 
fragment  of  an  ancient  castle,  the  stone  itself  in  alternate 
bands  of  dark  and  light, — all  these  are  only  integuments. 
Like  Solomon's  Temple  and  St.  Mark's  of  Venice,  Notre 
Dame  du  Puy  is  not  an  edifice  :  it  is  a  creed,  a  faith,  a 
hope.  It  is  a  religion  "clothed  upon"  with  art,  the 
soul  of  a  people  fitly  housed.  Into  it  have  been  wrought 
the  zeal  of  pilgrims  and  crusaders,  the  glory  of  kings  and 
popes,  the  wonder  of  miracles,  the  ecstasy  of  martyrdom. 
Analysis  is  no  more  in  place  than  criticism.  This  is  the 
body  of  a  mystery,  and  mysterious  it  should  be.^ 


36  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Many  a  city  has  built  a  cathedral,  but  here  the  cathe- 
dral has  built  a  cit}^  This  has  always  been  a  sacred  spot. 
Upon  it  stood  a  Celtic  dolmen,  says  the  local  tradition, 
and  after  that  came  a  temple  dedicated  to  Gallic  and  Ro- 
man divinities,  and  possibly  also  to  Isis.  The  earliest 
Christian  sanctuar}^  is  said  to  have  been  erected  about  the 
sixth  century,  or  even— as  others  hold — early  in  the  fifth. 
A  part  of  it  is  pointed  out  still  in  the  cathedral,  and  the 
stags'  heads  around  the  balustrade  of  one  of  the  cupolas 
recall  the  legend  that  a  wild  deer  marked  out  the  first 
enclosure  in  the  snow. 

The  pilgrimage  to  Mt.  Anis  became  famous  throughout 
Christendom.  Charlemagne  was  seen  here  twice,  and  at 
least  eight  kings  followed  in  his  footsteps.  Here  Pope 
Urban  paused  when  he  came  to  proclaim  the  first  crusade, 
and  many  a  pope  has  been  here  since.  But  for  the  incon- 
venience of  the  locality,  the  council  of  Clermont  would 
have  met  here.  Aimar,  the  bishop  and  count  of  Le  Puy,' 
was  appointed  by  Urban  his  representative  in  the  crusad- 
ing host  ;  and,  as  Tasso  recites,  four  hundred  of  his  towns- 
men took  arms  and  followed  him.  St.  Louis  returning 
from  his  crusade  brought  here  a  black  image  of  the  Mr- 
gin  which  received  the  adoration  of  pilgrims  until  it  was 
burned  during  the  Revolution  ;  when  Jeanne  d'Arc  set 
out  on  her  patriotic  mission  she  sent  her  mother  here  on 
a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  the  black  Virgin,  and  while 
the  mother  was  entering  Le  Puy  the  daughter  entered 
Orleans. 

In  the  midst  of  these  antiquities  and  reminders  we  can- 
not avoid  picturing  a  festival  of  the  Madonna  about  the 
middle,  say,  of  the  thirteenth  century.  It  is  the  great 
day  of  the  year  for  the  town  and  the  region.  Everybody 
in  the  neighborhood  is  to  be  seen  here,  and  thousands  of 
strangers  have  come  from  all  parts  of  the  Midi,  from 
northern  France,  from  Spain  and  Italy,  and  even  from 


The  Festivals  of  Lc  Puy 


J/ 


1 


k 


\ 


'\ 


^- 


Still  remoter  countries.  The  nave  of  the  wonderful  cathe- 
dral is  open  at  the  front,  so  that  worshippers  massed  for 
almost  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  the  steep  street  below  can 
see  at  least  the  glim- 
mer of  candles  on 
the  high  altar.  Piet}- 
is  at  white  heat. 
Every  inch  of  space 
is  not  only  used  but 
almost  fought  for. 
The  crush  is  terrific. 
Curses  mingle  with 
prayers  as  some  one 
finds  himself  over- 
borne ;  and  now  and 
then  screams  are 
heard  and  a  fierce 
commotion  follows, 
for  the  breath  has 
been  pressed  out  of 
some  feebler  b  o  d  }• 
and  S5-mpathetic  by- 
standers make  a  rush 
to  save  the  unfortu- 
nate's life. 

Very  different  are 
the  scenes  enacted  a 
little  way  off.     The 
Court  of  Le  Pu}-, 
formerl}'  held  at  this 
t  i  m  e,    was    discon- 
tinued  \-ears    ago,   and  we   mi.ss   the   hearty   Monk    of 
Montaudon.     But  informal  contests  of  knights,  of  joglars, 
and  of  poets  are  still  going  on.     Here  it  is  a  tourney,  there 
a  group  of  comical  joglars  in  a  ring,  and  j'onder  a  galaxy 


r- 


-is^ 


'^*K 


m 


v^ 


THE    NEEDLE    OF    ST.    MICHEL. 


175084 


38  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

of  rhymesters  singing  their  pieces  one  after  another. 
Half  a  dozen  fairs— great  and  Httle— are  in  progress. 
Every  catchpenny  is  on  hand  with  his  particular  device 
and  his  particular  cry.  Pilgrims  come  and  go— singly 
and  in  bands — and  with  them  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
crowd  mingle  bishop  and  baron,  the  priest  and  the  lady 
of  degree. 

But  who  is  this  musing  patriarch,  footing  it  slowly 
along  with  a  lute  slung  behind  his  shoulder  ?  He  is  a 
man  of  rather  less  than  average  height,  but  straight  and 
sturdy.  It  is  not  the  figure  of  a  suppliant  or  a  weakling, 
but  of  one  who  could  ' '  suffer  and  be  strong. ' '  The  small- 
ish eyes  appear  to  be  fixed  in  their  orbits.  When  his 
brows  knit  they  seem  cast  in  bronze,  and  you  wonder  how 
such  furrows  could  be  cut  in  flesh.  Dark  veins  run  across 
his  parched  forehead  to  meet  hair— tawny  where  it  is  not 
white— that  is  brushed  straight  back.  His  ears  are  almost 
as  colorless  as  the  locks  that  flow  over  them,  and  the  lips 
— once  full  and  wide,  perhaps — are  pinched  and  grey. 
There  are  caverns  in  the  cheeks,  caverns  under  the  e5'es, 
caverns  above  the  eyes  ;  yet  the  eyes  have  fire  behind 
them  still,  there  is  boldness  in  the  lines  of  the  eagle  nose, 
and  the  voice  though  slow  is  vibrant.' 

The  traveller's  costume  is  by  no  means  the  newest,  and 
as  he  speaks  to  this  one  and  that  one  his  long  beard  opens 
and  closes  a  little  at  the  point  like  the  jaws  of  an  animal. 
The  children  are  amused,  and  begin  to  tease  the  stranger; 
but  their  fathers  call  out,  "  Be  still!  "  and  their  mothers 
add, ' '  Hush,  don' t  you  know  that  that  is  Peire  Cardinal  ? ' ' 
So  we  picture  the  famous  troubadour  in  his  old  age,  for 
he  lived  to  be  nearly  a  hundred,  and  when  we  glance  at 
his  life  and  work  it  will  be  easy  to  understand  his  remark- 
able appearance  and  the  remarkable  respect  accorded  him. 
Born  in  Le  Puy  and  of  good  family— his  father  was  a 
knight  and  his  mother  a  lady— Cardinal  was  educated  to 


Peirc;  Cardinal  39 

be  a  canon  of  the  cathedral  here.  But  the  idleness  and 
the  vices  of  the  priesthood  had  no  attraction  for  him  ;  and 
besides,  "  he  felt  himself  gay,  handsome,  and  young," 
says  the  biographer,  and  "  the  vanity-  of  this  world  "  at- 
tracted him.  So,  for  he  knew  how  to  sing,  make  a  poem, 
and  compose  a  tune,  he  left  the  Church,  and  with  a  faith- 
ful joglar  to  render  his  pieces  lived  the  roaming  life  of  a 
troubadour.  Success  attended  him.  The  son  of  our  un- 
fortunate Peire  II.  was  among  his  patrons,  and  many 
"  honored  barons  "  entertained  him. 

But  his  lot  was  not  cast  in  a  happy  time.  The  vanities 
of  life  soon  di.ssolved  before  his  eyes,  and  left  him  face  to 
face  with  realities  that  he  could  not  blink.  He  saw  the 
country  devastated  by  the  Albigensian  wars  ;  bands  of  ex- 
crusaders  establishing  themselves  as  licensed  revellers  ; 
monks  passing  their  time  in  comparing  vintages  ;  whole 
monasteries  sallying  forth  at  night  to  fight  and  rob,  and 
before  morning  storm  a  nunnery"  ;  troops  of  free-lances 
taking  advantage  of  the  disorder  to  levy  upon  the  people 
at  their  will  ;  the  great  lords  imitating  instead  of  repress- 
ing their  lawlessness  ;  and  the  Church,  prouder  than  ever, 
enriched  beyond  measure  by  the  donations  of  crusaders, 
building  fortresses  and  equipping  armies  to  garrison  its 
vast  domains.  x\gainst  the  worst  and  the  haughtiest  of 
them  all,  Peire  Cardinal  lifted  up  his  voice, — one  solitary, 
unprotected  man  against  walls  and  towers,  against  lust 
and  crime,  against  fanaticism  and  greed,  organized  and 
triumphant  : 

I  ever  hate  all  falsehood  and  deceit. 

And  right  and  truth  my  footsteps  ever  guide, 

And  whether  this  bring  triumph  or  defeat, 
I  fret  me  not,  content  whate'er  betide.  ■" 

How  noble  a  profession  of  faith  !  Cardinal  was  the 
typical,  the  foremost  moral  poet  among  the  troubadours. 


40  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  chief  artificer  of  the  moral  sirvente  ";  and  this  appears 
to  be  the  sincere  epitome  of  his  feeling  and  activity. 
Though  poet  and  artist  he  did  not,  like  many  a  satirist, 
scourge  for  applause.  The  zeal  and  frankness  of  his  de- 
nunciations bear  the  stamp  of  devotion  ;  and  the  origi- 
nality, the  variety,  the  force,  and  the  pointedness  of  his 
literary  style,  no  less  than  the  strength  and  sustained 
elevation  of  his  ideas,  and  his  deep  sense  of  justice  and 
truth,  show  us  the  real  man  throwing  himself  bodily  into 
his  work.  His  nature  was  generous,  high,  and  capable 
of  indignation  ;  and,  as  he  became  acquainted  with  the 
world,  its  corruptions  filled  him  with  amazement  and 
horror. 

Debauchery 
To  such  a  height  now  rises 

That  falsity 
The  law  of  truth  revises  ; 

Cupidity 
Wins  more  and  more  the  prizes  ; 

Improbity 
Is  in  the  place  of  worth  ; 

True  piety 
An  open  door  surprises, 

And  charity 
Cries  out  against  the  earth  ; 

Approved  is  he 
That  God  and  Christ  despises, — 

To  bow  the  knee 
To  them,  provokes  but  mirth.' 

Cardinal,  as  we  have  seen  already,  was  an  ardent  parti- 
san of  the  count  of  Toulouse,  and  for  every  reason  he 
was  not  slow  to  express  himself  upon  the  character  of 
the  priesthood. 

Kite  nor  vulture  scents  a  beast 
That  is  dead  and  rots,  as  well 
As  the  preacher  and  the  priest, 


Peire  Cardinal  41 

Where  the  money  is,  can  smell  ; 

Quickly  they  're  the  rich  man's  friends, 
And,  when  dreaded  death  impends. 

Such  donations  are  besought 

That  his  family  have  naught.'" 

Afler  the  churchmen,  false  and  rapacious  nobles  were 
the  favorite  theme  of  this  Juvenal  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Full  many  lords  full  many  castles  keep 

Who  are  as  false  as  glass  set  in  a  ring, 
And  men  cannot  distinguish  wolves  from  sheep, 
Who  count  them  true  and  to  their  promise  cling  ; 
For  they  regard  not  equity  nor  law  : 
They  're  spurious  coin,  if  spurious  e'er  I  saw, — 
The  cross  is  there  with  flowers  twined  around. 
But  when  you  melt  it  silver  is  not  found." 

Most  of  Cardinal's  invectives  were  in  general  terms, — 
more  general  than  we  could  wish,  though  plain  enough  to 
those  familiar  with  all  that  he  denounced  ;  but  when  the 
occasion  demanded  he  could  be  specific,  and  the  danger 
of  speaking  out  did  not  bridle  his  tongue.  There  was  a 
certain  lord,  Esteve  de  Belmont,  who  became  distin- 
guished among  cruel  and  bloody  men  for  his  audacious 
crimes.  When  dining  one  da}'  with  his  godfather  he  cut 
the  feast  short  by  murdering  the  old  man  on  one  side  and 
a  child  on  the  other.  Then  he  put  the  servants  to  death, 
got  his  accomplices  into  confinement,  and  ravaged  the 
property  with  none  to  oppose  and  none  to  share.  Law 
and  justice  did  nothing,  but  Peire  Cardinal  recounted  the 
crime,  called  the  criminal  by  name,  and  smote  without 
fear. 

If  Cain  hath  seed  in  this  our  generation 
Esteve,  I  think,  must  be  of  his  creation  ; 
Such  threefold  treason  as  we  see  him  do 
Nor  Ganelon  nor  Judas  carried  through. '- 

And  then,  to  brand  the  criminal  with  contempt  as  well  as 


42  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

condemnation,  he  called  him  "  terrible  only  to  his  friends, 
his  servants,  and  his  pigs. ' ' 

We  marvel  that  so  frank  and  stinging  a  satirist  was 
allowed  to  go  and  come  in  safety.  Probably  there  was  a 
certain  respect,  almost  reverence,  for  the  poet  who  dared 
assume  so  lofty  and  so  righteous  a  tone,  for  the  ancient 
bards,  the  moral  censors  of  their  day,  had  been  sacred 
personages,  and  here  is  another  sign  that  in  a  vague,  un- 
conscious way  this  tradition  or  this  instinct  existed  still, 
both  in  poets  and  in  people.  But  that  is  not  the  only 
thing  to  be  said. 

The  age  was  doubtless  better  than  Cardinal  painted  it. 
We  must  never  fully  believe  either  the  panegyrist  or  the 
denunciator  of  his  times,  or  rather  we  must  believe  both, 
for  each  sees  and  records  the  facts  akin  to  his  feeling. 
Somewhat  in  the  rear,  somewhat  below  the  surface,  there 
was  no  doubt  a  vast  deal  of  goodness,  for  in  the  bad  age 
it  is  usually  not  so  much  that  people  change  as  it  is  that 
a  different  set  of  actors  come  upon  the  stage.  Cardinal 
himself,  a  spirit  of  righteousness  brooding  upon  the  chaos, 
was  an  evidence  of  better  things  ;  and  the  mere  fact  that 
so  rigid  a  preacher  was  "  highly  honored  and  favored," 
speaks  to  the  same  effect. 

Yet  the  stones  must  have  flown  thick  about  his  head 
sometimes,  and  often  he  must  have  been  marked  for  the 
silent  arrow.  With  the  soul  of  a  prophet  he  scorned  the 
peril,  but  like  the  prophet  he  wearied  and  cried  out  now 
and  then,  "  I  only  am  left  alone." 

A  storm  once  drenched  a  certain  town 
And  gave  the  place  a  strange  renown, 
For  every  person  went  insane 
On  whom  there  fell  one  drop  of  rain. 
In  concert  all  the  people  raved 
Except  a  fellow  that  was  saved 
Because,  unlike  the  other  men, 


Peire  Cardinal  43 

He  lay  asleep  at  home  just  then. 

The  nap  concluded,  he  arose, 
And,  as  the  storm  was  over,  chose 
To  have  a  look  about  the  town  : 
Behold,  he  found  it  upside  down  ! 
Men  clothed,  men  naked,  met  his  eye, 
And  some  were  spitting  at  the  sky  ; 
Here  stones,  and  yonder  cudgels  flew  ; 
Some  ripped  their  tunics, — whole  and  new  ; 
One  struck  and  fought  like  anything, 
Another  thought  himself  a  king 
And  swept  along  with  regal  air, 
While  some  jumped  benches  here  and  there  ; 
One  threatened  and  another  cursed, 
One  swore,  another  wellnigh  burst 
With  laughter  ;  some  made  faces,  or 
Declaimed,  yet  could  not  say  what  for. 

The  man  that  had  retained  his  wits — 
Dumbfounded  by  such  crazy  fits, 
But  soon  convinced  his  friends  were  mad — 
Looked  up  and  down  for  man  or  lad 
By  hopeless  mania  not  undone. 
But  looked  in  vain, — there  was  not  one. 
He  stood  and  marvelled,  dumb  and  grim  ; 
And  they — they  marvelled  more  at  him 
Because  his  mind  was  not  deranged  ; 
For  they  supposed  that  he  had  changed, 
Because  he  did  not  act  as  the}'. 

To  all  the  mob  't  is  clear  as  day 
That  all  of  them  are  sound  and  wise. 
But  he  is  daft  in  all  their  eyes. 
They  strike  him  on  the  neck  and  nose  ; 
Despite  his  efforts  down  he  goes  ; 
They  rush  and  hustle  him  about. 
While  he  tries  only  to  get  out ; 
He  's  up,  he  's  down  ;  one  shoves,  one  hauls  , 
One  tears  him,  and  another  mauls; 
Now  up,  now  down, — by  springs  and  strides 
He  reaches  home  at  last  and  hides. 
Muddy  and  bruised,  but  glad  to  escape 
E'en  half  alive  from  such  a  scrape. 


44  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

This  fable  dotb  the  world  portray 
And  all  the  people  of  today. 
This  generation  is  the  town 
Where  madmen  riot  up  and  down, 
For  they  the  path  of  reason  trod 
Who  loved  and  feared  Almighty  God, 
And  ever  chose  to  do  His  will  : 
Do  men  display  such  reason  still  ? 
The  rain  hath  fallen  on  mankind, — 
Cupidity  ;  and  now  we  find 
That  pride  and  wickedness  disgrace 
Without  exception  all  the  race. 
If  God  a  single  one  restrain, 
The  rest  all  take  him  for  insane. 
And  count  him  as  of  cheap  alloy 
Because  he  loves  what  they  destroy  ; 
For  heavenly  thoughts  they  cannot  bear, 
And  he  that  loves  God,  everywhere 
Perceives  that  now  the  world  is  mad, 
Though  godly  reason  once  it  had  ; 
And  they  think  he  has  lost  his  mind. 
Because  he  puts  the  world  behind.'^ 

Love,  yoti  will  readily  believe,  was  little  to  the  taste  of 
such  a  poet  ;  but  you  would  expect  a  trotibadour  in  the 
age  of  chivalry  to  pay  homage  to  the  grand  passion,  unless 
like  Folquet  he  preferred  to  renounce  the  world  entirely. 
Once  more  Cardinal  takes  our  breath  away. 

"  Triflers  and  fools,"  I  can  but  cry. 

When  men  to  Love  surrender. 
For  they  who  most  on  Love  rely 

Get  least  from  that  pretender  ; 
We  're  burned  when  but  for  warmth  we  sigh ; 
The  bliss  of  love  is  late  and  shy, — 

Fresh  ills  each  day  engender  ; 
To  dastards,  fools,  and  such  as  lie 

Her  smile  is  warm  and  tender  : 
So,  Love,  good-by.'^ 

The  truth  is,  of  course,  that  a  special  temperament  was 


Peire  Cardinal  45 

required  to  enjoy  gallantr}-,  and  while  the  troubadours 
could  hardly  be  thought  philosophers,  they  were  able  in 
a  way  to  feel  out  a  practical  philosophy  of  love.  An}-  sort 
of  costume  seems  beautiful  if  beautiful  women  put  it  on, 
and  so  the  misery  of  languishing  was  delightful  to  them 
from  its  associations,  its  hopes,  and  perhaps  its  memories. 
But  Cardinal  was  of  another  temper,  and  his  keenly 
thoughtful  intellect,  piercing  this  cloudy  region  of  senti- 
ments, hopes,  memories,  and  illusions,  emerged  after  a 
brief  experience  into  the  clear  light  of  reason,  and  from 
its  vantage-ground  viewed  the  hardships  of  gallantry  with 
a  cool  complacenc}'  not  unmixed  with  scorn.  Turning 
his  back  then  upon  the  ladies,  he  devoted  himself  to  his 
art  and  his  mission,  and  boldh'  declared  that  he  was  per- 
fectlj'  satisfied. 

No  longer  was  he  compelled  to  bear  heat  and  cold,  he 
proclaimed,'^  to  sigh  and  wait,  to  mourn  and  rage,  to  hire 
messengers,  to  deceive  and  be  deceived,  to  pay  sill}- 
homage,  to  dread  the  hatred  of  jealous  husbands,  and 
undergo  a  varied  catalogue  of  other  ills.  No  longer  was 
it  needful  to  swear  that  he  was  languishing  for  a  peerless 
beauty,  that  he  was  dying  for  the  fairest  of  earth,  that  he 
w^as  the  slave  of  Love,  that  he  had  been  robbed  of  his 
heart  ;  and  for  his  part  he  w-as  glad  indeed  to  escape  from 
it  all. 

To  lose  oneself  is  little  gain. 

But  losing  that  which  causes  pain 

Is  something  to  o'erjoy  me  ; 
And  why  desire  to  wear  a  chain 

For  one  that  would  destroy  me 
Is  far  from  plain."' 

Could  a  Dantesque  independence  go  farther  ?  Could  a 
troubadour  venture  more  than  to  set  at  naught  the  social 
and  literary  axiom  of  his  day, — the  supremacy  and  the 
necessity  of  love  ?     One  more  step  was  possible,  and  Car- 


46  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

dinal  took  it.  Recall  everything  you  have  read  of  the 
blind  superstition  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  then  give  ear 
to  this  : 

A  new  sirveute  I  have  resolved  to  make, 
Which  I  will  offer  at  the  Judgmeut-Dav 
To  Him  that  formed  me  of  the  lifeless  clav, 
If,  when  I  come,  His  anger  should  awake  ; 
And  if  He  wish  to  send  me  to  perdition, 
"  So  be  it  not,"  I  '11  say  with  all  submission, 
"  An  evil  world  I  've  had  to  undergo. 
So  shelter  me,  I  pray,  from  endless  woe." 

The  court  of  heaven  shall  marvel  and  shall  quake 
To  hear  the  pleas  that  I  shall  then  array. 
For  I  declare  God  doth  His  own  betray 
If  He  destroy  them  in  the  burning  lake  ; 
To  lose  what  He  could  gain  is  an  admission 
That  He  should  lack,  since  that  is  His  ambition. 
For  He  should  sweetly  make  His  heaven  grow 
By  taking  all  whom  death  permits  to  go. 

To  close  the  door  would  be  a  sad  mistake, 
And  how  't  would  shame  Lord  Peter  to  obey 
(For  Peter  keeps  the  gate)  and  turn  away 

A  single  guest  that  would  God's  cheer  partake  ; 
For  every  court  is  open  to  suspicion 
If  some  fare  ill,  while  some  have  glad  fruition  ; 
And  though  God  be  a  mighty  king,  we  know, 
If  closed  His  portal,  we  shall  cry  "  What,  ho!  " 

Despoil  the  devils  and  their  prisons  break — 
That  should  He  do,  and  souls  would  be  His  pay  ; 
No  man  would  blame  Him,  and  He  then  could  pray 
Himself  for  pardon,  for  His  own  sweet  sake  ; 

He  might  destroy  them, — I  would  give  permission  : 
He  could  absolve  Himself,  if  't  were  sedition  ; 
"  O  fair  Lord  God,  I  pray  You  strip  the  foe 
That  sore  besets  us,  hurrying  to  and  fro. 


Peire  Cardinal  47 

"  My  trust  in  You  no  doubt  shall  ever  shake, 
My  goodly  hope  on  You  I  ever  stay  ; 
Save,  then,  niy  body  and  my  soul  for  aye. 
And  when  I  die  do  not  my  side  forsake  ; 
And  this  fine  choice  I  offer  in  addition, — 
To  put  me  back  in  my  unborn  condition, 
Or  else  forgiveness  for  my  sins  bestow  : 
Had  I  not  lived  I  had  no  sins  to  show. 

"  To  damn  me  now  for  this  fair  proposition 
Were  wrong  and  wicked, — such  is  my  contrition  ! 
And  I  could  well  return  You  blow  for  blow  : 
With  each  small  good  a  thousand  ills  You  strow  !  "  '' 

Is  this  blasphemy  ?  No,  it  is  only  the  desperation  of  a 
righteous  heart  in  a  strangely  perverse  and  sinful  genera- 
tion, and  the  concl tiding  stanza  sets  before  us  the  poet's 
real  feeling. 

"  O  blessed  Mary,  pity  is  your  mission  : 
To  heaven  guide  us  through  all  opposition  ; 
Fathers  and  children,  do  not  one  forego. 
But  where  St.  John  is,  make  our  joys  o'erflow."  " 

Truly,  Peire  Cardinal  belongs  just  where  we  find  him, 
with  the  rocky  fortress  of  Espaly,  the  spire-pointed  Needle 
of  St.  Michel,  pious,  paradoxical  Le  Puy,  and  the  colossal 
figure  of  the  Virgin  fashioned  of  molten  cannon  and  en- 
shrined upon  a  mountain-top.'" 


XXVII 

POLIGNAC 
Guilhem  de  Sain  Leidier 

THE  storm  beat  furiouslj'  on  the  towers  of  Polonhac/ 
and  the  viscountess,  reclining  on  a  divan  richly 
cov^ered  with  Persian  tapestry,  listened  without  interest 
while  her  attendant  repeated  once  more  the  tale  of  Floris 
and  Blancaflor. 

At  length  the  roar  of  the  wind  subsided.  The  hangings 
no  longer  swayed  in  gusts  that  forced  an  entrance,  and 
the  rain  no  longer  dashed  wildly  at  the  casement.  Sadly 
wearied  and  loneh',  the  mistress  of  the  castle  began  to 
think  of  retiring,  when  a  very  different  sound  made  its 
way  into  her  chamber.  It  was  the  sound  of  a  lute,  and 
presently  the  voice  of  a  singer  was  mingled  with  it. 

Save  me  alone,  all  creatures  have  permission 
To  find  their  share,  whatever  their  condition  ; 
But  I  know  not  where  I  shall  e'er  win  favor 
Though  my  true  love  would  ne'er  be  false  or  waver  ; 
None  loves  the  fair  whose  kiss  love's  jo}-  presages 
As  I  love  her  that  war  unceasing  wages  ; 
Am  I  at  fault — my  heart  despite  me  ceding? 
Think  how  I  'd  love  her  were  there  hope  of  speeding  !  ^ 

The  voice  was  robust  but  skilfully  modulated,  the  air  was 
graceful  and  sweet,  and  the  plaintive  rhymes  of  the  song 
— they  were  all  what  are  termed  "  feminine  " — enhanced 
the  tenderness  of  the  words. 

48 


Guilhem  de  Sain  Lcidicr  49 

The  lady  listened  inteuth^  and  then,  rising,  placed  her- 
self with  care  at  the  window,  throwing  her  figure  and 
head  against  the  pale  glinnnering  of  the  sky, — a  tall  Juno, 
still  and  haughty,  not  indeed  with  black  hair  to  make  one 
shiver  and  black  eyes  to  make  one  burn — for  her  tresses 
were  blonde  ' — but  none  the  less  with  keen  lights  in  her 
grey-blue  e5'es  and  keener  fires  in  her  passionate  heart,  a 
woman  of  ideal  mould,  a  romantic  figure  altogether,  capa- 
ble of  infinite  sweetness  and  capable  also  of  infinite  and 
eternal  hate. 

The  moon  began  to  cast  fitful  gleams  through  the  torn 
and  rushing  clouds.  The  air  had  grown  sharp,  and  every 
now  and  then  a  rough  blast  flung  a  long  handful  of  snow 
across  the  pavement, — a  menace  of  winter  more  chilling 
than  winter  itself,  for  it  touched  the  imagination  instead 
of  the  senses.  Far  below  was  the  little  village,  and  two 
or  three  lights  could  still  be  made  out.  Taking  all  this 
in  with  a  glance,  the  lad}-  looked  carefully  abroad.  She 
had  been  expecting  every  moment  a  wild  clatter  of  hoofs 
upon  the  road,  a  rush  into  the  courtyard,  a  tumult  of 
calls,  greetings,  oaths,  and  laughter,  the  groans  of 
wounded  men,  torches  hurrying  here  and  there,  and  then 
upon  her  shoulder  the  mailed  hand  of  her  lord  still  spotted 
with  the  life-blood  of  an  enemy.  She  studied  the  fields 
of  light  shifting  across  the  plain,  but  there  was  no  sign 
of  the  viscount  and  his  rough  men-at-arms  ;  she  listened, 
but  she  could  hear  onlv  the  singer  at  the  foot  of  the  tower. 


'ft^ 


She  still  inspires  more  love  and  more  submission 
Each  day  that  comes,  but  grants  yet  less  fruition  ; 
And  still  more  hard  will  grow  my  hard  enslaver, 
And  love,  I  fear,  acquire  yet  harsher  flavor  ; 
'T  is  but  the  worse  if  scorned  affection  rages, — 
What  course  to  take,  in  vain  my  thought  engages  ; 
If  war  defeat,  and  peace  help  not  my  pleading, 
Nothing  but  magic  will  ensure  succeeding.^ 


50  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

"  Yes,  it  is  Guilhem  :  and  he  dares  much,"  the  lady 
might  have  been  heard  to  say  as  the  music  ceased. 

Her  attendant  had  slipped  out  meanwhile  ;  and  pres- 
ently, pushing  the  curtain  at  the  door  slowly  aside,  the 
serenader  appeared.  The  viscountess  had  not  been  mis- 
taken :  it  was  Guilhem  de  Sain  Leidier.  Covered  with  a 
mantle  of  black  silk,  he  wore  a  long  dagger  sheathed  in 
his  belt  ;  and  a  coat  of  mail,  clinking  softly  beneath  it, 
showed  that  he,  too,  understood  the  peril  of  his  enterprise. 
But  no  hint  of  that  appeared  in  his  face,  and  lightly  throw- 
ing back  the  pointed  hood  of  his  mantle  he  advanced  with 
eyes  cast  down,  and  fell  on  one  knee  before  the  vis- 
countess. 

I  need  not  say  that  she  looked  gently  down  upon  the 
daring  troubadour.  But  she  was  the  mistress  of  Polon- 
hac  ;  and  her  lord,  though  he  could  not  gain  her  heart, 
commanded  her  duty  and  had  overaw^ed  her  wnll.  "  Sir 
Guilhem,"  she  said,  "  unless  the  viscount  my  husband 
conuuanded  and  besought  me,  I  would  not  accept  you  as 
ni}'  knight  and  servitor." 

Without  a  word  Sain  Leidier  rose,  made  a  low  obeisance, 
and  withdrew,  for  he  felt  that  whatever  tenderness  might 
lie  behind  it,  the  answer  could  not  have  been  more  hope- 
less ;  and  so  will  j'ou  think  when  3'ou  know  what  manner 
of  man  the  viscount  was. 

The  tremendous  rock  of  Polignac  looks  like  the  base  of 
a  pillar  set  up  to  prop  the  sky.  Wherever  you  go  the 
hills  are  forever  opening  before  it  as  if  in  awe.  Like  a 
lion  in  the  way,  that  black  mass  is  perpetuall}-  rearing 
itself  up  before  you.  A  dozen  similes  of  grandeur  and 
power  would  only  suggest  its  impressiveness.  George 
Sand  wrote  of  the  castle  :  "  A  city  of  giants  on  a  rock  of 
hell." 

From  the  earliest  ages  it  has  been  a  notable  spot  on 
earth,  and  in  the  days  of  Sain  Leidier  as  now  it  was  more 


o 
< 

z 

<3 
J 
O 
Q. 


p 


olio-nac  5_ 


impressive — 3^es,  more  terrible — for  the  stories  of  an  an- 
cient past,  legends  in  part  and  in  part  history,  that  have 
gathered  round  its  dark  sides  and  bristling  top.  Reach- 
ing down  at  least  forty  feet  into  the  rock  is  the  "  Abyss," 
as  it  is  called  :  the  living  water  at  the  bottom  is  said  to 
have  supplied  a  Roman  camp,  and  earlier  still  a  Gallic 
town.  Not  far  away  is  the  "  Well  of  the  Oracle,"  in  later 
days  a  cistern  and  perhaps  the  entrance  to  a  subterranean 
passage,  but  anciently — according  to  tradition — the  tryst- 
ing-place  of  supernatural  powers.  The  Emperor  Clau- 
dius came  here  for  auguries,  it  has  been  thought,  and  one 
may  see  both  the  colossal  mask  of  a  bearded  god  and  a 
Latin  inscription  to  the  emperor.  In  short,  medieeval, 
Roman,  and  Gallic  associations,  at  least  in  the  popular 
belief,  have  attested  the  antiquity  and  the  sacredness  of 
Polignac." 

The  family  that  bore  this  title  has  not  been  unw^orthy 
of  an  abode  so  august.  "  If,"  cried  that  matter-of-fact 
English  squire,  Arthur  Young,  "  If,  with  the  name,  it 
belonged  to  me,  I  would  scarcely  sell  it  for  a  province." 
Running  back  perhaps  beyond  the  fourth  century  of  our 
era,  we  know  from  the  chronicle  of  Bishop  Norbert  that 
in  the  time  of  Alfred  the  Great  (880)  it  had  become  a 
power  in  the  land.  In  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  its  influence  grew  to  be  national.  It  was  a 
Polignac  whom  Voltaire  hailed  in  one  of  his  poems  as 
"  the  Oracle  of  France."  Then  came  the  Revolution, 
most  fatal  to  the  highest.  The  head  of  the  house  left 
France  never  to  return,  and  the  castle  paid  his  penalty. 
The  family,  to  be  sure,  survived  :  a  Prince  de  Polignac 
was  the  prime  minister  of  Charles  X.  and  caused  the  out- 
break (1830)  that  overthrew  his  king.  But  the  castle 
perished  forever  with  the  feudalism  it  represented.  To- 
day Birs  Nimroud  is  hardly  more  desolate  ;  and  the 
traveller  gazes  amid  silence  and  loneliness  on  renniants 


54 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


of  walls,  a  round  tower,  and  the  magnificent  donjon, 
scarred  but  not  broken  b}'  the  violence  of  men  and  the 
fire  of  heaven. 

In  the  days  of  the  troubadours  the  scene  was  verj^  differ- 
ent.    The  whole  plateau  bristled  then  with  fortifications, 

built  from  time  to  time 
as  the  need  for  them 
appeared.  Double  and 
triple  walls  fringed  the 
precipice.  For  everj" 
l)lock  of  stone  that  we 
now  see  there  stood 
a  tower  then,  and  for 
every  blade  of  gra.ss 
there  stood  a  spear. 
Sentries  watched  in  the 
turrets  by  night  and  b}' 
day.  Da}^  and  night 
six  hundred "'  fearless 
Deloraines  feasted  or 
slept  in  the  great  halls. 
A  look  from  the  vis- 
count, and  they  flung 
themselves  into  their 
saddles  ;  a  word,  and 
they  rushed  off  to  scour 
the  roads,  ambush  the 
passes,  or  dash  across  the  swell  and  la}"  their  bodies  gayly 
down  at  the  Porte  Pannessac  of  Le  Puy,  in  the  standing 
quarrel  between  Polonhac  and  the  bishops.*^ 

Indeed  they  were  bus)'  men,  those  troopers.  Bertran 
de  L,amanon,  in  one  of  his  songs,  cried  out  against  law3-ers 
and  bailiffs, — the  nuisance  of  such  fellows  meddling  in  the 
business  of  a  noble.  But  as  yet  there  was  no  such  thing, 
and  the  vi-scounts  of  Polonhac  took  every  advantage  of 


PORTE   PANNESSAC,   LE  PUY. 


The  Dark  Side  of  I'ciulalism  55 

the  situation.  In  a  word,  they  deserved  the  very  sharpest 
of  Cardinal's  philippics.  Whatever  strength  and  audacity 
could  attempt,  they  did.  Their  fierce  horsemen  were  the 
terror  of  the  region.  Fields  were  stripped,  barns  and  folds 
plundered,  merchants  lightened,  and  pilgrims  eased. 
Such  was  their  authority  that  they  coined  their  own 
monej'.  They  established  castles  on  every  highway,  the 
better  to  levy  taxes  on  all  who  passed.  They  leagued 
themselves  with  others  of  their  kind,  and  harried  the 
country  far  and  wide.  One  of  them  plundered  the  church 
and  abbe}'  of  Brioude  :  "  It  is  an  insupportable  abuse," 
he  declared,  "  that  monks  .should  be  as  rich  as  princes." 
Their  name  was  a  terror  even  in  the  court  of  Rome. 
When  beaten  by  the  king,  for  they  despised  all  others  and 
defied  even  him,  they  would  merely  di.sgorge  a  few  castles, 
sure  of  regaining  them  at  will,  or  pay  a  round  fine  at  the 
expense  of  another  abbe^^ 

The  wildest  and  perhaps  the  worst  of  all  these  viscounts 
was  a  certain  Heraclius,'  who  pas.sed  off  the  stage  as  Car- 
dinal went  on.  It  was  his  de.stiny  to  walk  barefoot 
through  Brioude  clad  in  sackcloth  and  reciting  penitential 
prayers,  with  a  rope  around  his  neck  and  a  candle  in  his 
hand,  to  kneel  on  the  pavement  in  the  porch  of  the  cathe- 
dral and  receive  a  flagellation,  and  then  humbly  to  confess 
his  crimes  and  swear  to  make  amends. 

But  nothing  in  his  earlier  career  suggested  such  an  out- 
come. "  The  King  of  the  Mountains,"  as  he  loved  to  be 
called,  he  revelled  in  pillage,  arson,  perjury,  and  cruel 
murder.  With  his  father  he  led  in  the  sack  of  Brioude. 
He  even  dared  to  attack  the  great  abbey  of  I^a  Chaise 
Dieu,  and  when  the  enormous  ran.som  of  his  prisoners 
had  been  paid,  he  ordered  some  of  them  shot  through  by 
his  archers  and  others  bound  to  the  tails  of  wild  horses, — 
laughing  at  them  for  trusting  his  word.  He  taught  his 
troopers  to  amuse  themselves  by  hanging   peasants  on 


56  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

their  own  trees,  and  called  this  "  the  administration  of 
justice."  Only  a  combination  of  the  pope  and  the  king 
was  able  to  break  him,  and  that  not  easily  nor  soon. 

Imagine  a  troubadour  asking  such  a  man  for  the  love 
of  his  wife, — for  it  was  the  wife  of  this  Heraclius  whom 
Guilhera  de  Sain  Leidier  loved.  Down  in  some  cranny  of 
the  precipice,  kites  would  presently  hav^e  had  the  picking 
of  his  bones. 

But  Guilhem  was  not  one  to  give  up.  Danger  did  not 
unnerve  him,  for  he  was  a  soldier  ;  and  we  must  not  for- 
get that  one  of  the  prime  attractions  of  courtly  love  was 
its  appeal  to  the  fondness  of  the  age  for  perilous  adven- 
tures. He  was,  moreover,  an  approved  gallant,  as  the  old 
biography  takes  the  utmost  pains  to  declare,  and  it  would 
never  do  to  give  up  a  heart  that  seemed  already  won. 

Luckily  for  him  he  was  on  excellent  terms  with  the  vis- 
count— but  it  was  not  luck  either,  for  he  was  a  man  whom 
no  one  could  help  admiring  and  liking.  His  intrepidity 
was  hidden  with  good  humor,  and  his  resolute  purposes 
were  masked  in  urbanity,  while  his  manners  and  even  his 
dress  conciliated  and  pleased. 

The  troubadour  Marsan  *  drew  the  portrait  of  a  perfect 
gentleman,  and  Sain  Leidier  seems  to  have  anticipated  his 
rules  by  fifty  ^xars  or  more.  To  begin  with  he  took 
pains  to  be  clothed  in  a  correct  and  handsome  style.  He 
was  rich  enough  to  afford  the  best,  but  whatever  he  chose 
to  put  on,  his  shirt  was  always  of  fine  white  linen.  Shoes, 
hose,  breeches,  and  bliaut — especially  the  sleeves — were 
so  trim  and  close-fitting  that  all  who  saw  them  felt  envi- 
ous. His  robe  was  always  a  little  short  rather  than  long. 
He  dressed  his  neck  in  such  a  wa}-  that  no  matter  how 
he  exerted  himself  his  body  would  not  be  exposed — a 
point  that  many  overlooked.  His  mantle  was  usually  of 
the  same  stuff  as  his  robe,  with  a  becoming  clasp  ;  and  he 
never  forgot  that  as   the   mantle   was  distinctively  the 


The  Gentleman  of  their  Day 


57 


noble's  garment,  a  graceful  and  elegant  manner  of  wear- 
ing it  was  the  most  signal  mark  of  courth'  breeding  so  far 
as  dress  was  concerned. 

His  beard  and  moustaches  were  kept  rather  close,  and 
his  hair,  beautified  by 
frequent  washings, 
was  not  allowed  to 
grow  over-long.  E^^es 
and  hands  were  held 
under  strict  reserve  : 
if  he  saw  anj-thing 
that  interested  him 
he  never  took  it  from 
another,  and  the  love- 
liest face  never  drew 
a  stare.  At  home  he 
saw  that  all  things 
needful  for  the  house- 
hold were  provided 
a  da}'  in  advance,  so 
that  everything  could 
be  done  seasonablJ^ 
His  castle  was  open 
to  everybod}'  and  he 
was  alwavs  gracious. 
Even  at  breakfast  he 
would  not  allow  him- 
self to  eat  alone,  but 

sat  down  with  his  guests  and  did  the  honors  of  the  table. 
All  his  servants  were  carefully  trained,  and  in  particular 
were  never  allowed  to  come  and  whisper  in  his  ear  at  the 
table,  for  that  would  look  as  if  something  had  fallen  short  or 
else  as  if  some  scheme  were  afoot.  Two  esquires  were 
always  in  attendance,  and  they  were  sure  to  be  no  ordi- 
nary fellows,  but  polite  and  fair-spoken  lads,  for  did  not 


THE  DONJON,  POLIQNAC. 


58  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

people  say,  "  Like  lord,  like  household  "  ?  Whenever  he 
opened  his  purse  he  spent  freely.  In  gaming  he  made  it 
a  point  of  honor  to  play  high,  take  his  losses  pleasantly 
even  though  he  suspected  that  the  dice  were  loaded — as 
they  were  occasionally  in  those  days,  too — and  quit  the 
table  last.  And  at  the  tourney  he  sat  his  charger  firmly 
but  gracefully,  and  struck  with  all  his  might.'  In  short 
Sain  Ivcidier  was  the  typical  gentleman  of  polite  society  '"; 
and  when  we  add  to  his  agreeable  traits  that  he  was  a 
musician,  a  wit,  and  a  poet,  we  are  not  surprised  that 
ev^en  the  wild  viscount  enjoyed  his  company. 

Sure  then  of  the  lord's  confidence  and  the  lady's  inclina- 
tion. Sain  Leidier  planned  with  all  his  faculties.  When 
he  had  planned  enough  he  composed  a  new  song  ;  and 
when  he  was  master  of  the  singing,  he  climbed  the  steep 
and  narrow  road  of  Polonhac  one  day,  passed  through  the 
four  mighty  gateways,  and  smilingly  greeted  the  lord  of 
the  castle. 

"How  now,  Sir  Guilhem  ?  "  cried  Heraclius.  "You 
seem  in  right  good  humor  today.  Some  fair  dame  has 
been  smiling  on  you  but  recently,  I  trow." 

"  Ah,  m}'  lord,  it  is  you  who  carry  all  before  you.  As 
for  me  I  win  ni}^  way  slowly  and  at  the  hardest.  Will 
you  believe  it,  my  mistress  will  have  none  of  me  save  on 
one  condition  :  her  own  husband  must  ask  it." 

"  Ha,  ha!  "  roared  the  viscount,  "  good  enough  for  j'ou 
at  last,  Guilhem.  Better  console  yourself  elsewhere  ; 
that  's  my  advice.  Ha,  ha,  ha.  Guilhem  de  Sain  Leidier 
beaten  !  " 

"  But,  Sir  Viscount,  I  am  not  beaten.  I  have  made  a 
song,  and  the  husband  is  going  to  sing  it  to  his  wife.  She 
will  take  it  he  knows  all  and  consents.  Pray,  what  think 
you  of  that,  Lord  Heraclius  ?  " 

"  A  good  stroke,  by  'r  Lady,  Guilhem.  But  here  :  a 
merry  song  that  must  needs  be,  methinks.     Teach  it  me. 


Guilhem  de  Sain  Lcidier  59 

It  is  an  age  since  you  have  given  nie  a  new  song,  and  3-ou 
know  I  love  to  sing.  Come  now,  a  bargain  !  That  roan 
of  yours  is  getting  on  :  he  breathed  hard  as  3-ou  rode  into 
the  court  but  now.  Teach  me  that  song,  and  take  home 
the  best  charger  in  the  stables,  next  my  own.  There, — 
run,  boy,  and  fetch  my  viol."  " 

The  viscount's  throat  was  best  fitted  to  drown  the  din 
of  battle  with  his  war-crj%  "  Polonhac  !  "  but  he  sang 
well,  too,  says  the  narrative.  His  deep  voice  gave  pleasure 
to  himself,  he  liked  applause,  and  especially — for  he  knew 
that  she  loved  music — he  sang  to  the  viscountess,  just  as 
Polyphemus  ma}'  have  sung  to  Galatea.  So  after  supper, 
well  flushed  with  wine,  while  the  great  hall  still  echoed 
with  rough  plaudits,  he  sought  his  wife's  apartments,  and 
tried  his  talent  upon  her  more  critical  taste.  And  this  is 
what  he  sang  : 


^o 


Fair  lady,  I  am  sent  to  you — 
'T  will  all  be  plain  ere  I  am  done — 
To  greet  you  in  behalf  of  one 

Whom  love  for  you  supports  and  cheers  ; 
And,  lady,  you  need  have  no  fears  : 
False  messenger  between  you  two 

He  ne'er  will  be  that  sings  here  now. 


^&-^ 


Whatever  knight  may  plead  and  woo, 
All  other  loves  I  pray  you  shun  ; 
Each  day  he  shines  the  more,  and  none 

Seem  worth  a  thought  when  he  appears; 
So  when  toward  love  your  fancy  veers 
Love  him,  I  beg,  and  warmly,  too, — 
No  lady  should  reject  his  vow.'^ 

"  So  he  's  quite  ready  to  toss  me  over  to  a  comrade,  is 
he  ?  "  mused  the  lady.  ' '  Whj-  should  I  not  be  happ)' 
when  my  lord  commands  it  ?  What  does  he  care  for, 
anyhow,  save  to  increase  his  troop  and  kill  his  enemies  ? — 
a  man  of  iron." 


6o  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

By  this  fair  knight — I  know  not  who — 
Refuse  no  longer  to  be  won  ; 
For  my  sake  be  not  such  a  nun, 

But  gain  the  love  that  perseveres 
In  peace  and  concord  through  the  years  ; 
What  I  advise  't  is  best  you  do  : 
Fear  not,  I  order  and  allow. '- 

"  Ah,  SO  he  has  let  Guilhem  dupe  him,"  thought  the 
lad}^  then.  "  He  is  only  a  simpleton,  and  he  has  drunk 
too  much  wine.  Well,  my  word  has  been  pledged  to 
Guilhem,  and  I  have  no  excuse  to  give  him  now." 

So  it  was  that  Sain  lycidier  became  the  knight  of  the 
viscountess.  Their  love  continued  a  long  while  and  made 
them  happy;  and  society,  we  are  told,  was  no  less  pleased, 
for  many  acts  of  grace  and  gallantry  and  many  sweet 
songs  were  the  fruit.  But  the  viscount  saw  nothing,  for 
there  was  but  one  confidant,  Ugo  Marescalc,  Sain  L,eidier's 
most  intimate  friend,  and  as  all  three  took  the  same  name, 
"  Bertran,"  the  songs  gave  no  clue.  But  in  the  end  all 
their  happiness  was  ruined;  and  this  came  abotit  through 
jealous}-. 

There  lived  at  that  time  a  beautiful  and  witty  lady 
near  Vienne  on  the  Rhone,  and  like  the  rest  of  the 
gentlemen  Sain  Leidier  went  often  to  visit  her."  So 
graciously  received  were  his  attentions,  too,  that  every- 
body thotight  him  the  ladN^'s  accepted  lover,  though,  says 
the  manuscript,  his  heart  was  in  reality  still  faithful  to  its 
mistress.  After  a  time  kind  friends  reported  at  Polonhac 
what  was  being  said,  and  the  viscountess  felt  satisfied  of 
its  truth,  for  in  fact  the  troubadour  had  been  less  often  at 
her  castle  of  late. 

Jealousy  never  had  a  braver  conquest  than  the  grand 
lady  in  the  tower.  To  pine  away  was  her  last  thought. 
"  Revenge!  "  was  her  purpose,  and  it  neither  slumbered 
nor  slept. 

But  what  could  she  do  ? 


Guilhem  de  Sain  Leidier  6i 

She  sent  for  Ugo  Marescalc  and  told  him  all  her  griev- 
ance, all  her  bitterness,  and  how  she  must  avenge  herself 
on  the  false  lover.  And  she  said  :  "  Sir  Ugo,  I  wish  now 
to  make  you  ni}-  knight  ;  for  I  know  you  well,  and  I  could 
find  no  one  who  would  suit  me  better,  or  cause  Sir  Guil- 
hem so  much  grief  and  anger."  And  then — she  told  him 
something  more,  as  we  shall  see.  And  when  Sir  Ugo 
heard  this  he  marvelled  exceedingl}-  and  said:  "  My 
lady,  the  love  of  which  you  speak  is  great  indeed  ;  here 
am  I  to  do  all  your  bidding." 

So  the  viscountess  gave  out  that  she  was  going  on  a 
pilgrimage,''  apparelled  herself  in  her  best  and  fairest, 
and  sunmioned  her  attendants. 

In  what  a  fever  of  impatience  did  she  hurr}^  off  the 
cavalcade  !  The  resolution  taken,  she  had  no  use  for 
thought, —  she  would  not  think.     To  do,  to  act  ! 

"  Come,  girl,  how  can  you  loiter  .so?  Quick,  my  wimple, 
my  mantle,  my  gloves!    .    .    .    Here  with  you  all!   .    .    ." 

Her  confidential  maid  approached  and  whispered  some- 
thing ver}'  earnestly  in  her  ear  ;  but  her  mistress  only  re- 
plied in  a  high,  loud  voice,  "  Go  ?  I  'd  go  if  I  knew  the 
ground  would  open  .  .  .  Where  is  my  palfrey,  boy  ? 
.  What  snails  thej'  all  are  !  Will  j-ou  go  or  stay, 
which?  .  .  .  Now  the  gates!  .  .  .  I  will  go  first, 
guard."     And  the}-  set  out.'^ 

Some  hours  later  a  noble  lad\'  and  her  attendants, 
bound  on  a  pilgrimage,  craved  hospitality  at  the  gate  of 
Sain  Leidier.  Guilhem  was  not  at  home, — never  mind, 
his  castle  was  there,  his  chamber,  //is  bed.  Ugo  de  Mare- 
scalc was  there,  too.  As  an  honored  guest,  the  viscount- 
ess of  Polonhac  was  free  to  act  her  pleasure  in  all  things. 
She  was  not  one  to  flinch.  Drunk  with  jealousy,  blind 
with  rage,  reckless  of  herself,  mad  to  gratify  her  passion 
of  hate  and  make  both  love  and  lover  a  mockery  and  a 
jest — she  took  the  fatal  plunge 


62  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Ugo  Marescalc,  says  tradition,  was  driven  forth  and 
peasants  killed  him. 

Sain  Leidier,  the  gentleman,  proved  true  to  his  courtly 
principles.  The  lover  must  not  credit  even  his  own  eyes 
against  his  mistress  ;  much  less  could  he  believe  his  serv- 
ants, and  he  merely  said  at  the  end  of  a  song  : 

Bertran,  Bertrau,  my  wrath  I  could  not  smother, 
"Were  but  the  falsehood  true  aud  told  me  of  another.  '* 

Publicly  he  denied  everything,  but  privately  he  yielded  to 
the  fair  lad}-  b}^  the  Rhone. 

And  the  viscountess  ? 

It  has  been  suggested  that  she  lived  to  be  the  wife  of 
another  husband.  But  this  is  probably  a  mistaken  idea, 
and  an  old  manuscript  records  a  different  story  :  "  At  the 
right  of  the  third  gate  of  the  castle  of  Polignac  is  a  tower, 
circular  and  rather  high,  upon  the  level  top  of  the  rock. 
Within,  there  extended  across  the  tower  [in  1779]  an 
enormous  beam,  blackened  by  time  and  dampness,  for 
only  narrow  slits  admitted  the  light  of  day.  From  the 
middle  of  the  beam  hung  a  weighty  chain  ending  in  a 
girdle  of  iron,  shut  with  heavy  locks.  This  tower  was 
the  prison  of  a  viscountess  of  Polignac,  who  had  had  for 
lover  a  trotibadour  whose  verses  maj-  be  found  in  Paris  in 
the  library  of  the  king.  The  poor  lady  was  cruelly  pun- 
ished. She  was  kept  in  this  gloomy  dungeon,  in  these 
frightful  chains,  until  she  died."  " 

Again  music  found  its  way  to  her  ear  by  night, — btit  it 
was  onl}'  the  wail  of  the  north  wind.  Through  the 
hurrying  clouds  came  now  and  then  a  pale  and  fitful 
glimmer  of  moonlight.  And  once  or  twice  invisible  crys- 
tals of  snow,  falling  upon  her  cheek,  burned  there  an 
instant  like  sparks  from  a  furnace. 


XXVITI 

CHAPTEUIL   AND    MERCCEUR 
Pons  de  Capduelh 

WE  had  no  pleasanter  excursion  from  Le  Puy  than 
our  trip  to  Chapteuil. 

It  was  first  a  drive  of  ten  short  miles  toward  the  morn- 
ing sun  through  the  green  hills  of  Vela}-.  The  fields  were 
bright  and  fresh.  Barley  and  wheat  were  tall  and  already 
beginning  to  head.  The  lentils  were  pushing  on.  Lic- 
zerne  and  the  red  treflc  warmed  the  verdant  slopes.  Beside 
the  road  stood  lines  of  horse-chestnuts,  elms,  and  poplars  ; 
while  pines,  queerly  gnarled  and  twisted,  writhed  in  pain- 
less terrors  at  the  edge  of  many  a  ravine. 

It  was  a  fete-da}'  and  very  few  of  the  people  were  at 
work.  Groups  of  men,  clad  in  their  holiday  best  of  solemn 
black,  stood  here  and  there  gossiping  by  the  roadside,  or 
rolling  tenpins  on  the  greensward.  The  women,  who  had 
been  to  mass  in  the  stone  church  by  the  bridge  or  in  that 
on  the  hill,  w^ere  going  home.  They,  too,  were  in  black  ; 
but  their  plain  ruddy  faces  w^ere  framed  with  bonnets  of 
white  muslin,  patterned  like  an  old-fashioned  nightcap, 
and  kept  in  place  wath  a  broad  ribbon  around  the 
head. 

At  St.  Julien-Chapteuil  the  carriage  stopped  but  we  did 
not.  Out  of  the  hills  and  ravines  there  rose  above  us  a 
dark  mountain,  carrying  the  pines  up  with  it.  Above  the 
pines  and  beyond  the  pastures  we  found  some  little  fields, 

63 


64  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

and  after  the  fields  a  few  stone  houses,  some  with  thatched 
and  some  with  slated  roofs.  A  rude  cross  of  mossy  stone 
answered  to  a  figure  of  the  Madonna  niched  in  the  wall 
of  a  primitive  chapel.  This  was  Chapteuil,  and  it  had 
taken  a  climb  of  just  about  a  mile  by  a  rough  and  arduous 
path  to  reach  it. 

Still  ascending  we  came  to  a  ruined  gateway  built  of 
natural  crystals  of  basalt,  as  black  as  coal,  and  supported 
b}'  fragments  of  wall  on  either  side.  In  the  midst  of  scat- 
tered blocks  a  staunch  though  storm-beaten  evergreen 
seemed  nature's  banner  set  up  on  the  vanquished  castle. 
Farther  on  we  found  the  remains  of  a  donjon  and  a  tower  ; 
and  above  all  rose  the  peak  of  the  mountain,  curling  up 
into  a  huge  wisp  of  the  hexagonal  prisms. 

There  is  a  curious  tradition  attaching  to  these  ruins. 
While  the  castle  stood,  it  was  the  lord's  custom  to  warn 
the  peasants  of  a  storm  or  an  enemy  by  sounding  a  cow- 
herd's horn  from  the  wall.  So  efficient  was  this  guardian- 
ship that  in  time  the  simple  folk  attributed  a  magical 
power  to  the  castle  and  the  horn  ;  and  long  after  the 
towers  and  the  walls  had  fallen  they  gathered  here  and 
blew  a  cowherd's  trumpet  whenever  any  danger  appeared 
to  threaten  them. 

What  an  assurance  we  find,  in  such  a  tradition,  of  a 
long  succession  of  kind  and  faithful  lords  keeping  watch 
and  ward  for  their  defenceless  people  !  Such  lords  there 
were,  and  I  would  gladly  see  in  this  present  such  govern- 
ing as  Bartholomew  described  in  his  encyclopaedia  in  the 
days  of  Cardinal  and  Peguilha  :  "  A  rightful  lord  by  way 
of  rightful  law  heareth  and  determineth  causes,  pleas,  and 
strifes  that  be  between  his  subjects,  and  ordaineth  that 
every  man  have  his  own,  and  draweth  his  sword  against 
malice,  and  putteth  forth  his  shield  of  righteousness  to 
defend  the  innocent  against  evil-doers,  and  deliveretli 
small  children  and  such  as  be  fatherless  and  motherless 


Pons  de  Capduelh 


65 


and  widows  from  them  that  overset  them.  And  he  pur- 
sueth  robbers  and  reivers,  thieves,  and  other  evil-doers. 
.  .  .  Also  this  name  '  lord  '  is  a  name  of  peace  and 
surety.  For  a  good  lord  ceaseth  war,  battle,  and  fighting, 
and  accordeth  them  that  be  in  .strife.     And  .so  under  a 


THE   RUINS  OF  CAPDUELH. 

good,  a  strong,  and  a  peaceable  lord,  men  of  the  country 
be  secure  and  safe. ' ' 

Such  we  may  infer  were  the  lords  of  Capduelh,  but  for 
one  of  them  we  may  affirm  still  more  and  affirm  it  with 
assurance.     Certain  ancient  manuscripts  relate  to  him, 

VOL.  II.— 4. 


66  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

and  from  them  emerges  a  noble  figure,  like  an  Apollo 
long  buried  in  the  earth.  When  we  think  of  the  ideal  we 
seem  like  those  who  dream  ;  but  the  ideal  knight  existed, 
his  name  was  Pons  de  Capduelh,  and  he  rode  often  out 
and  in  through  this  very  gateway. 

For  once  a  man  combined  all  orders  and  kinds  of  merit. 
Tall  and  handsome,  as  we  learn  from  his  biography,  he 
was  endowed  with  all  the  graces  that  ladies  admired  and 
the  powers  that  men  respected.  He  was  an  intrepid  sol- 
dier, and  at  the  same  time  a  thorough  gentleman, — hos- 
pitable, eloquent,  and  gallant.  In  the  tilting-ground  he 
was  remarkable  for  his  address  in  arms,  and  in  the  hall  he 
excelled  in  singing,  playing  the  viol,  and  composing  songs. 
He  was  rich  but  neither  extravagant  nor  mean,  high  in 
rank  but  free  from  the  faults  of  his  class,  a  knight  with- 
out fear,  a  troubadour  without  frivolity,  a  man  without 
reproach.' 

It  is  the  romantic  drama  of  such  a  life  that  we  are  per- 
mitted now  to  sketch. 

The  romantic  drama  rides  the  magic  steed  of  Firouz 
Schah  and  makes  long  journeys  in  a  twinkhng  :  we  are 
no  longer  at  Chapteuil  now,  but  approaching  Mercoeur, 
— some  fifty  miles  west,  as  the  hawk  would  measure  it, 
across  the  mountains  of  Auvergne.  We  are  at  Ardes, 
the  nearest  village,  about  a  dozen  miles  from  Le  Breuil 
and  the  railroad.  It  is  a  market-day  and  the  hour  for 
lunch  ;  and  entering  the  inn  we  seat  ourselves  among  the 
farmers  and  teamsters. 

The  Auvergnats,  lineal  descendants  of  the  ancient 
Gauls,  are  looked  upon  as  the  Boeotians  of  France,  and  it 
is  supposed  to  require  a  juggler  of  no  mean  city  to  intro- 
duce an  idea  into  one  of  their  honest  heads.  But  all  rules 
have  their  exceptions. 

"  What  's  potluck  S^plat  du  jou)^^  today  ?  "  demands  a 


Mercoeur  67 

burly  fellow  in  a  frock,  leaning  back  with  his  big  fists  on 
the  edge  of  the  table,  and  his  knife  and  fork  sticking  up 
out  of  them  like  stems  out  of  red  apples. 

"  Boiled  beef  with  carrots,  monsieur,"  says  the  girl. 

"  Is  that  all?"  he  growls. 

"  Oh  no,  monsieur,"  she  answers  pleasantly  ;  "  we 
have  also  boiled  beef  without  carrots." 

In  taking  our  place  among  the  teamsters  we  have 
obeyed  the  Scripture,  and,  receiving  presently  the  call  to  go 
up  higher,  we  are  conducted  through  the  dim  and  smoky 
kitchen,  and  seated  in  a  rear  room  at  a  large  table  covered 
with  a  cloth,  where  important  guests  are  served  by  her 
landlady  ship  in  person.  Here  is  the  old  lawyer,  tall, 
grey,  and  thin,  with  a  black  coat  and  a  black  portfolio, 
mingling  dignity  and  affability  with  as  much  nicety  as  a 
toper  of  the  old  school  mixed  the  precious  elements  of  his 
toddy.  Here,  too,  is  the  young  lawyer,  with  another 
black  coat  and  another  black  portfolio  ;  he  will  get  on, 
we  see  that  plainly  enough,  though  as  yet  he  is  a  trifle 
too  brisk,  a  trifle  too  bland,  a  trifle  too  much  of  every- 
thing to  command  our  entire  confidence. 

But  the  figure  of  the  party  is  an  old  woman  taking  light 
refreshments  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  table.  She  wears 
a  venerable  black  dress,  a  plain  cape  of  the  same  color, 
and  a  muslin  nightcap  edged  with  lace.  Her  entertainer 
is  a  good-looking  young  farmer  who  desires  to  renew  his 
lease  on  terms  a  little  more  favorable.  She  has  had  coffee 
and  a  cordial  at  his  charge,  she  listens  contentedly  to  all 
his  blandishments,  but  she  says  not  a  word  of  committal. 
An  older  farmer  comes  to  the  young  fellow's  aid.  He 
flatters  the  woman  and  praises  the  man, — "  the  likeliest 
young  chap  in  all  the  region,  the  most  faithful,  the  most 
deserving."  But  that  Medicean  face  in  the  nightcap  is 
inscrutable  still  ;  it  nods  and  it  blinks  ;  it  smooths  its 
wrinkles  a  bit  and  gathers  them  up  ;  the  hands  explain, 


68 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


expostulate,  deny  ;  the  eyes  question,  concur,  assent, 
promise  ;  the  shoulders  even  grow  enthusiastic  ;  but  at  last 
the  play  is  over,  the  last  drop  of  cordial  is  gone,  and  the 
tongue  has  agreed  to  nothing.  That  old  woman,  with  her 
round,  leathery,  furrowed  face,  her  twinkUng  eyes,  her 
fitful  moonlight  smile,  and  her  dumb  show  of  conversation 
will  always  dwell  in  my  memory  as  a  picture  of  diplomacy. 
Upon  this  homely  background  opens  our  scene. 


A  DISTANT  VIEW  OF    MERCCEUR. 


Two  or  three  miles  distant  from  Ardes  there  stands  in 
clear  view  against  the  western  sky  a  short  black  line  on 
the  brow  of  a  mountain,  which  marks  the  ruined  castle  of 
Mercoeur.  There  lived  Alazais  whom  Pons  de  Capduelh 
loved. 

We  have  time  to  think  of  them  both  as  we  traverse  the 
hills  and  scramble  up  the  mountain.  In  their  day  as  in 
ours  the  slopes  were  doubtless  covered  with  a  wild  ver- 


The  Education  of  Girls  69 

dure.  The  oak  and  the  holly,  the  pines  and  the  stunted 
firs,  brushed  here  and  there  the  knight's  horse,  and  the 
brilliant  yellow  of  the  juniper  flowers  lighted  up  the  rider's 
thoughts.  Perhaps  there  were  grain-fields  then  as  now, 
and  cornflowers  and  coquelicots  among  the  wheat.  The 
naountain  road,  too,  was  just  as  steep  ;  but  the  castle — 
that  was  difl"erent.  It  is  now  but  a  heap.  At  one  end 
we  find  a  bit  of  low  wall,  at  the  other  stands  the  lofty  frag- 
ment of  a  corner, — the  corner  toward  Chapteuil,  and  this 
is  all. 

There  seems  to  be  an  affinit)'  between  the  two  sites. 
The  home  of  Pons  was  a  mountain  seen  far  and  wude;  the 
home  of  Alazais  was  no  less  conspicuous.  Standing  on  the 
ruins  we  find  ourselves  at  the  end  of  a  sharp  ridge.  We 
look  down  almost  straight  some  fifteen  hundred  feet  into 
the  dark  gorge  of  the  Couse,  and  then  we  gaze  around  over 
a  landscape  of  hills  and  mountains,  not  craggy,  but  smooth 
and  green.  Not  less  than  a  dozen  villages  msLX  be  counted, 
some  deep  in  the  valleys,  some  clinging  to  the  .slopes,  and 
some  balanced  on  the  hilltops.  Reallj-  it  seems  a  little 
strange  and  eerie, — the  romance  between  these  two  castles 
in  the  sky,  a  little  like  a  love  affair  between  the  Jungfrau 
and  the  Finsteraarhorn.  And  indeed  the  Alps  are  not 
more  lofty  nor  their  snows  whiter  than  were  the  thoughts 
and  hearts  of  lyord  Pons  and  Lady  Alazais. 

For  Alazais,  like  Pons,  appears  before  us  as  a  noble 
character,  and  we  may  look  upon  her  as  the  ideal  woman 
and  lady  of  her  day.  She  was  beautiful,  but  her  qualities 
of  mind  and  of  heart  were  her  greatest  attraction.  To  be 
sure  her  stock  of  book  learning  was  not  large,  and  of 
"  mental  training,"  according  to  our  standard,  she  was 
destitute.  Yet  neither  was  she  ignorant.  When  but  a 
child,  dressing  and  undressing  her  doll  just  as  little  girls 
do  now,  she  began  to  learn  prayers  by  rote,  and  as  time 
went  on  she  committed  large  portions  of  the  Psalter  to 


70 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


memory.  While  still  at  home,  with  an  alphabet  hung  at 
her  girdle,  her  ivory  tablets  in  her  soft  fingers,  and  a  very 
serious  look  in  her  gay  blue  eyes,  she  learned  to  read  and 
write  her  mother  tongue,  and  at  the  convent  she  acquired 
the  elements  of  reading  and  writing  Latin,  and  the  art  of 
keeping  accounts.  She  was  acquainted  with  several  of 
the  Roman  classics  and  many  of  the  histories,  poems,  and 
romances  current  in  Provencal,  and  on  starry  nights  it 
gave  her  pleasure  to  call  by  name  the  principal  constella- 
tions. 

Homelier  accomplishments,  but  no  less  prized,  were  a 

housewifely  skill  in 
caring  for  the  cham- 
bers, and  a  butler's 
knowledge  of  table- 
service.  She  knew 
how  to  sew,  spin,  and 
weave,  and  could  cut 
and  make  a  garment, 
if  need  be,  for  herself 
or  for  Count  Ozil,  her 
husband ;  but — as  was 
natural  — embroidery 
was  more  to  her  lik- 
ing, and  she  did  it 
with  taste  and  origin- 
ality. As  a  child  she 
was  quick  at  rackets 
and  battledore  and  a  respectable  antagonist  at  chess,  and 
before  she  was  fairh*  a  young  lady  she  could  ride  boldly 
and  hunt  her  falcon  with  the  best.  Laughingly,  yet  in 
earnest,  she  learned  as  a  girl  something  of  drugs  and 
more  of  medicinal  herbs  and  more  yet  of  nursing.  The 
sight  of  blood,  if  it  meant  the  hurt  of  a  loved  one,  might 
cause  a  momentar}^  faintness  ;  but  she  would  rall}^  quickly, 


A  LADY  HOLDING  A  FALCON. 

XIII.    CE.MTURY. 


The  Code  of   Lad)hood  71 

and  if  the  injur}'  were  not  serious  was  able  to  dress  the 
wound  herself. 

Her  great  delight  was  music'  She  could  play  both 
harp  and  viol  and  sing  enchantingh-  ;  and — to  her  credit 
be  it  said — she  never,  even  as  a  young  lady,  hung  back 
with  pretended  shyness  and  required  many  urgings,  like 
not  a  few  girls  of  that  daj',  when  invited  to  sing  or  play 
for  the  entertainment  of  a  company. 

In  essential  womanliness  and  in  the  graceful  arts  of 
social  intercourse  we  may  think  of  her  as  the  equal  of  an}' 
lady  we  have  met.  Her  ideal  was  the  woman  sketched  in 
her  own  time  b}'  Garin  lo  Brun  ^  and  minutely  pictured  a 
hundred  years  later  b}-  Francesco  da  Barberino  :  within, 
a  virtue  proof  against  every  danger  and  impelling  to  every 
good  act  ;  without,  a  soft  and  winning  manner,  always 
gracious  and  alwaj's  tactful. 

Her  daily  life  was,  indeed,  so  complete  an  illustration 
of  Garin's  maxims  that  he  might  have  drawn  them  all 
from  observing  her. 

To  begin  with  little  things,  every  requirement  of  her 
toilet,  from  the  bathing  of  her  face  to  the  braiding  of  her 
blonde  hair,  was  faithfull}'  regarded,  and  every  item  of 
dress  from  her  closely  fitting  shoes  to  the  brooch  at  her 
neck  was  comel}'  and  well  adjusted.  In  particular  .she 
was  verj'  careful  that  her  mantle  should  always  hang 
evenl}'  before  and  behind.  All  her  waiting-maids  were 
trained  to  courtesy  and  strict  propriety,  especially  those 
who  assisted  at  her  toilet  ;  and  even  if  some  one  mentioned 
the  choicest  bit  of  gossip  in  their  presence  they  did  not 
seem  to  hear  it.  When  she  went  to  church  she  took  care 
to  have  enough  people  with  her  so  that  whoever  might  be 
met  on  the  way  she  would  be  in  no  danger  of  an  un- 
pleasant experience.  Thus  guarded  she  proceeded  straight 
on, — slowly  and  with  .short  steps  if  afoot,  or  gracefully 
and  on  a  suitable  palfrey  if  she  rode  ;  and  on  entering  the 


']2  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

sacred  portal  she  at  once  veiled  her  face  or  drew  a  corner 
of  her  mantle  over  it. 

At  home  as  abroad  she  displayed  with  all  her  gayety 
Shakespeare's  "  modesty  of  nature,"  a  composure  that 
was  never  depressed  and  never  exuberant.  She  took 
pains  to  receive  all  politel}-  and  pleasantly,  but  she  care- 
fully studied  her  guests  and  made  a  clear  distinction  in 
her  mind  between  the  good  and  the  bad,  the  noble  and 
the  base.  She  understood  well  that  many  a  man,  if  she 
showed  him  anything  more  than  simple  courtesy,  would 
go  away  and  boast  that  her  cordiality  meant  love.  And 
even  with  a  visitor  whom  she  had  reason  to  count  good 
and  noble,  she  confined  herself  at  first  within  the  lines  of 
strict  politeness,  merely  giving  him  a  seat  near  her  and 
inviting  him  to  remain  that  daj^  at  her  castle. 

Of  words  she  was  indeed  always  char}-,  for  though 
sprightly  and  fond  of  conversation,  she  knew  that  one 
who  spoke  little  was  heard  the  more  attentively.  Most 
of  all  she  was  on  her  guard  against  criticising  and  mis- 
judging others.  Courtliness  was  her  abiding  principle, 
the  true  courtliness,  which — as  Garin  explains — consisted 
in  sweet  manners,  in  graceful  speech,  in  avoiding  all  that 
could  annoy  others,  and  in  doing  and  saying  everything 
that  could  make  one  loved  ;  and  with  all  this  she  main- 
tained no  less  carefully  that  shade  of  reserve — of  hauteur, 
one  may  fairly  say — which  repels  the  unworthy  and  makes 
kind  words  and  acts  appear  still  more  gracious.^ 

As  for  the  attachment  that  grew  up  between  her  and 
Pons,  we  seem  justified  in  looking  upon  it  as  an  ideal  love. 
Beginning  with  mutual  respect  and  admiration,  their  ac- 
quaintance throve  along  the  lines  of  increasing  familiarity, 
fastened  itself  upon  mutual  confidence,  ripened  into  a  sin- 
cere and  rational  friendship,  and  little  by  little— pene- 
trated by  the  fire  of  two  ardent  natures — came  to  be  love  ; 
as  the  rich  flow  of  the  grape,  changing  its  quality  insen- 


Pons  and  Alazais  73 

sibly,  acquires  in  time  the  sparkle,  the  bouquet,  and  the 
passion  that  make  it  wine.  There  was  nothing  absurd  in 
their  love,  for  there  was  nothing  ignorant  and  nothing 
feigned.  Alazais  answered  perfectly  to  the  nature  of 
Pons.  ' '  Before  I  set  eyes  upon  her  I  saw  her  in  my  heart 
daily,"  he  sang  once,  and  the  thought  of  her  wanned  all 
the  sources  of  his  life. ' 

How  glad  a  cheer  within  me  slugs, 
There  's  none  could  say,  there  's  none  could  think, 
For  I  can  see  the  winter  shrink, 
The  blithesome  season  blithely  springs  ; 
Yet  merry  bird  and  opening  rose 
Cause  not  the  joy  my  songs  disclose. 

But,  lady,  you  ;  for  you  have  given  me  gleams 
Of  such  a  hope,  I  'ni  king  of  joy,  nieseems.** 

Alazais  merited  such  a  love  bj'  her  sincerit}'  and  truth. 
Though  she  came  from  stony  iVnduze,  she  had  no  kinship 
of  heart  with  Clara.  She  was  not  one  to  keep  a  man  just 
beyond  the  line  of  content,  but  just  within  that  of  useful- 
ness ;  so  near  that  she  could  ask  anything,  yet  so  far  that 
he  could  be  sure  of  nothing.  She  fenced  with  her  knight, 
but  her  true  love,  not  coquetr)-,  was  the  reason.  She 
maintained  the  straitest  reserve  ;  but  it  commanded  entire 
respect,  for  it  was  entirely  sincere. 

Just  there  mutual  devotion  found  its  limit.  The  lovers 
met  but  now  and  then,  and  almost  alwa3'S  in  public.  Their 
manner  toward  each  other  was  formal  and  studied,  with 
few  exceptions,  for  it  is  the  most  ardent  feeling  that  wel- 
comes the  strictest  rule.  Yet  beneath  all  this  reserve  each 
was  blessed  with  a  profound  satisfaction.  Alazais  would 
seem  perhaps  to  have  gained  the  more.  Not  only  did  the 
troubadour  sound  her  praise  in  his  poems,  but  he  gave 
man}'  tournaments  in  her  honor,  and  no  doubt  appeared  in 
manj'  others  as  her  knight.  Wherever  he  could  serve  and 
honor,  she  was  served  and  honored. 


74 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


But  he,  too,  was  a  gainer.  Her  mere  appearance  at  the 
tournament  brought  him  no  slight  reward.  A  sentiment 
that  has  plaj'ed  a  vital  part  in  men's  happiness  for  cen- 
turies came  into  being  in  its  new  and  special  sense  at  just 
this  time  and  in  just  this  way.  The  advent  of  woman  in 
man's  world  during  the  second  half  of  the  twelfth  century 
— a  world  fitly  represented  by  the  tournament — gave  him 
a  new  basis  of  distinction  and  a  new  source  of  happiness, — 
the  sentiment  of  personal  honor,  something  distinct  from 


MERCCEUR. 


the  honor  of  his  rank  or  class  ;  and  when  Pons  rode 
out  of  the  lists  bearing  his  lady's  glove  in  triumph,  he  felt 
a  joy  quite  fresh  in  the  experience  of  mankind.  More 
than  this  :  his  capacity  for  the  unselfish  and  enthusiastic 
devotion  of  such  a  love  enabled  him  to  receive  the  voca- 
tion of  true  knighthood,  and  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  obey- 


Knighthood  75 

ing  laws  which,  as  Gautier  and  Ste.  Palaj'e  have  agreed, 
' '  might  have  been  arranged  by  the  wisest  legislators  and 
most  virtuous  philosophers  of  all  nations  and  all  times  " — 
in  short,  the  laws  of  chivalry:  to  believe,  obey,  and  pro- 
tect the  Church,  to  love  one's  country,  to  defend  the  weak 
of  every  sort,  to  be  brave,  true,  faithful,  and  liberal,  and 
always  to  stand  for  the  right. 

Neither  did  he  lack  rewards  more  direct.  Whenever 
Alazais  could  bestow  a  wreath  and  speak  a  word  of  praise, 
the}'  were  his.  The  sense  of  mutual  admiration,  confi- 
dence, esteem,  and  enthusiastic  affection  made  it  a  con- 
stant pleasure  to  strive  for  her  approval  and  live  for  her 
sake.  Her  mere  presence  gave  him  a  delight  that  a  baser 
nature  could  never  have  ;  and  sometimes — though  there 
was  nothing  voluptuous  in  her  bearing — when  she  passed 
him  with  a  grace  and  a  power  due  at  once  to  her  perfection 
of  form  and  the  strength  of  her  unspent  love,  he  felt  pres- 
ently as  if  she  had  given  him  a  caress, — only  the  exquisite 
pleasure  seemed  flowing  from  the  heart  into  the  senses, 
not  creeping  feebly  inward  through  the  dull  periphery  of 
his  life. 

And  3'et  these  lovers,  so  admirable  themselves,  and  so 
admirabh*  mated,  became  estranged. 

Lord  Pons  was  not  ignorant  how  other  troubadours  had 
fared.  Almost  ever}-  one  had  been  shown  a  "  semblance 
of  love  "  by  some  fair  dame  who  only  wished  her  praises 
sung.  He  could  not  help  feeling,  now  and  then,  what  a 
silly  fellow  he  was, — filling  the  region  with  songs  to  his 
Alazais  and  constantly  risking  his  life  in  the  tourney  for 
her  sake,  if  she  were  only  using  him  for  a  mirror  to  enjoy 
the  effect  of  her  charms.  The  more  in  earnest  he  knew 
he  was,  the  more  he  felt  the  need  of  assurance  that  he  was 
not  beating  the  air.  Often  he  reproached  himself.  ' '  Only 
a  fool  believes  all  that  his  eyes  see,"  he  once  declared  ; 
and  in  this  case  nothing  had  even  been  seen  to  arouse  a 


76  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

doubt.  But  his  anxiety  was  below  the  reach  of  argument. 
The  thought  grew,  and  finally  something  had  to  be  done. 
Just  what  he  wished,  he  could  not  have  told, — certainly 
nothing  contrary  to  the  rule  of  delicacy  and  honor.  But 
he  felt  he  must  come  nearer,  near  enough  to  find  out 
whether  his  lady's  heart  was  really  keeping  time  with  his. 

And  she  ?  In  her  heart  of  hearts,  where  she  allowed 
herself  to  look  only  at  rare  and  precious  moments,  she 
found  ever}^  wish  that  she  read  in  her  lover's.  But  she 
knew  the  danger,  and  she  kept  her  eye  on  the  duty  of 
both.     .     .     . 

He  made  his  attempt,  and  she  repelled  it, — so  gently 
that  he  saw  nothing  till  he  began  to  think  the  matter  over. 
Even  then  he  was  not  sure     . 

He  tried  again,  and  this  time  there  was  no  doubt  :  she 
had  repulsed  him. 

All  his  fears  were  confirmed,  he  thought  ;  but,  as  the 
manuscript  tells  us,  he  resolved  upon  another  and  a  differ- 
ent proof :  he  would  go  away  and  see  whether  he  was 
missed.  So  he  went  down  to  Provence,  and  paid  his  court 
to  a  viscountess  of  Marseille. 

It  is  true,  as  Napolski  says,  that  we  do  not  positively 
know  who  this  lady  was,  for  there  w^ere  several  viscounts 
of  Marseille  at  that  time.  But  of  course  he  wished  his 
change  of  fealty  to  be  conspicuous;  so  why  not  paj'  his 
homage  to  the  reigning  beauty  ?  Besides,  how  came  he 
to  journey  so  far,  unless  he  sought  a  mistress  whose  fame 
had  gone  abroad  ?  There  was  a  lad 3-  at  Marseille  who 
answers  exacth'  to  the  conditions,  Barral's  wife,  the  theme 
of  Peire  Vidal  and  young  Folquet,  and  I  believe  like 
Diez  that  it  was  no  other  than  she  to  whom  this  third 
troubadour  paid  his  addresses.' 

All  the  while  he  was  praying  for  a  recall  to  Mercceur  ; 
but  it  did  not  come.  He  hoped  to  find  out  that  his  lady 
loved  and  missed  him  ;  but  he  did  not.     Her  womanly 


A  Ball  -]-] 

composure  was  unruffled  ;  she  never  mentioned  his  name, 
and  if  any  one  spoke  of  him  she  paid  no  attention,  busying 
herself,  say  the  manuscripts,  with  her  domestic  and  social 
life.  But  he  did  find  out  one  thing  :  he  learned  that  he 
could  not  possibly  live  without  the  friendship  and  affection 
of  Lady  Alazais,  and  he  returned  to  his  real  love. 

But  he  found  an  abyss  where  he  had  left  only  a  vale. 
He  had  feared  that  she  was  untrue  ;  she  was  sure  that  he 
was  false.  With  virtue  she  had  the  fault  of  virtue,  un- 
charity.  Conscious  of  her  love,  she  could  see  no  reason 
for  his  proving  it  ;  conscious  of  her  fidelity,  she  could  see 
no  excu.se  for  his  waywardness.  In  the  hope  of  pardon 
he  besieged  her  with  messages  and  letters  and  songs  of 
penitence. 

If  e'er  I  failed  in  homage  due, 
If  act  or  word  was  proud  and  ill, 
If  I  transgressed  your  wish  or  will, 
With  loyal  heart  sincere  and  true. 

Sweet  friend,  I  yield  me  up, — denouncing 
My  fault,  my  other  liege  renouncing  ; 
Content,  whatever  be  your  mind, 
To  bear  your  sentence,  harsh  or  kind.^ 

For  a  long  time  his  efforts  were  all  in  vain  :  .she  would 
have  none  of  him.  But  at  last  he  succeeded,  and  some 
of  the  manuscripts  explain  how.  Enlisting  the  aid  of 
Maria  de  Ventadorn,  the  viscountess  of  Auba.sson,  and 
the  countess  of  Montferrand '  he  brought  them  tcj  Mer- 
coeur,  and  through  their  intercession  he  at  last  received 
forgiveness. 

The  reconciliation  was  celebrated,  we  may  be  sure,  with 
a  grand  tournament,  and  after  that  a  grand  ball,  at 
Capduelh. 

Many  an  hour  of  my  life  would  I  give  to  have  been 
present  at  the  ball.  The  best  joglars  in  all  the  region 
composed  the  orchestra.     They  were  not  remarkably  well 


78 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


disciplined,  I  must  confess.     Their  instruments  were  of 
many  kinds,  and  as  there  was  no  conductor  each  played 
away  as  loudly  as  he  could,   with  little  thought  of  the 
general  effect  and  none  too  great  regard  for  the  time.'" 
But  there  was  no  disorder  about  the  dancing,  no  sus- 


CHAPTEUIL. 


picion  of  '  *  romping  ' '  there.  The  step  was  a  sort  of  qua- 
drille for  six  couples,  which  originated  in  the  north  of 
France,  and  became  so  popular  that  we  find  it  appearing 
as  the  treialtrei  in  the  poems  of  the  minnesingers.     Danced 


A  Lady's  Ball-Dress  79 

by  persons  only  half  alive  the  movement  would  seem  un- 
interesting perhaps,  but  it  was  not  so  there.  As  the  strict 
style  of  the  Italian  renaissance  emphasizes  the  richness  of 
its  vitality,  the  formal  measures  of  this  quadrille  only 
brought  into  relief  the  power  and  life  of  knights  and  ladies. 
Forms  instinct  with  .strength  and  faces  eloquent  with  feel- 
ing only  gained  in  effect  from  the  dignity  of  the  movement. 
It  was  beauty  controlling  power  ;  it  was  music  directing 
impulse.  Lordly  force  joined  hands  with  invincible  grace, 
and  they  revolved  together  in  shining  orbits  governed  by 
melody  and  measure." 

Still  none  had  eyes  for  any  but  Pons  and  Alazais. 

Alazais,  poor  lad}-,  had  passed  several  tedious  hours  in 
her  chamber,  though  no  trace  of  them  remained.  For  a 
long  while  she  and  her  maids  could  not  decide  what  she 
should  put  on,  and  the  question  of  the  girdle  alone  occu- 
pied half  an  hour.  Finally  she  selected  for  her  bliaut  not 
the  loose  garment  similar  to  a  man's  which  we  saw  the 
countess  of  Burlatz  wear,  but  one  of  the  more  elaborate 
kind  consisting  of  a  corsage  with  sleeves,  a  middle-piece, 
and  skirts, — three  separate  parts  cut  and  sewn  so  as  to  fit 
the  person  perfectly.  The  corsage  opened  in  front— that 
is,  it  could  open — down  to  the  middle-piece,  and  the  edges 
were  trimmed  with  a  sort  of  lace  ;  the  middle-piece  opened 
behind  and  was  brought  together  with  cords  ;  the  skirt 
also  was  parted  behind  from  top  to  bottom,  and  occasion- 
ally permitted  one  to  see  the  robe ;  and  the  sleeves,  enlarg- 
ing enormously  at  the  wrist,  had  ends  that  almost  reached 
the  floor. 

The  material  of  her  bliaut  was  an  ecru  silk  from  Damas- 
cus, almost  exactly  a  crepe  de  Chine,  wonderfully  light  and 
fine,  embroidered  with  conventional  flower  patterns  in  vio- 
let silk  over  the  bosom,  cut  around  the  bottom  of  the  skirts 
into^zr(7;/5,and  edged  with  violet  embroidery  set  with  gems. 
The  fabric  was  almost  diaphanous,  and  through  it  one  got 


8o  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  effect  of  her  samite  robe,  a  Tyrian  purple  trimmed 
with  ermine.  At  her  neck  and  wrists  there  was  just 
visible  the  edge  of  a  chemise  of  the  whitest  and  finest 
linen,  w^orked  with  gold  thread.  Her  girdle — object  of  so 
much  solicitude  though  of  no  real  use,  for  it  was  adjusted 
a  little  below  the  hips  and  served  onl}^  to  hide  the  seam 
between  middle-piece  and  skirts — was  a  heavy  braided 
cord  of  pale  blue  silk,  thickly  studded  with  pearls,  and 
adorned  with  a  large  carbuncle  in  each  of  the  ends.  Her 
mantle,  thrown  aside  of  course  when  dancing  began,  was 
a  dark  blue  brocade,  edged  with  sable  and  lined  with  a 
delicate  flame-colored  silk,  so  lustrous  that  it  seemed  to 
possess  light  rather  than  color.'" 

Her  blonde  hair  was  done  up  .so  skilfully  that  the  two 
heavy  braids  tied  at  the  ends  with  ribbons  did  not  look 
stiff  in  the  least.  Each  individual  hair  in  her  eyebrows 
was  put  in  order,  and  every  one  of  the  countless  little  folds 
of  the  bliaut  w^as  arranged  with  jealous  care.  Then,  as 
fresh  as  a  May  morning,  although  the  closeness  of  her 
garments  had  made  it  impossible  to  sit  down  once  during 
the  operations  of  dressing,  Alazais  took  up  her  chief 
treasure, — a  fan  of  Italian  make,  formed  of  a  half  circle  of 
ostrich-tips  in  a  finely  wrought  handle  of  gold,  with  a 
splendid  ruby  in  the  end  of  the  handle  ;  next,  to  keep  her 
hair  in  place,  her  maids  adjusted  a  light  circlet  of  gold 
beaten  into  the  form  of  eglantines  with  a  diamond  at  the 
centre  of  each,  and  then — she  was  ready. 

Her  person  was  worthy  of  its  adornment,  for  she  was  the 
recognized  type  of  womanly  beauty.  The  close  garments 
revealed  almost  as  much  as  they  hid  a  perfectly  moulded 
but  not  heavy  figure,  and  a  bust  that  was  well  developed 
but  not  full.  Her  head  was  small  rather  than  large,  her 
neck  long  and  round,  and  of  a  whiteness  that  many  ladies 
found  it  necessary  to  obtain  by  artificial  means,  and  her 
chin  rather  prominent.     Her  teeth  were  small,  regular, 


A  Full-Dress  Costume  8r 

and  as  white  as  teeth  can  possibly  be  ;  and  her  Hps  turned 
over  enough  to  suggest  an  opening  flower.  Her  eyebrows 
were  well  separated,  and  that  by  the  favor  of  nature,  not 
art,  again  ;  and  her  fingers  were  long,  straight,  and 
smooth. 

To  these  typical  beauties  she  added  charms  distinctively 
her  own.  There  was  something  about  her  face  that  made 
one  feel  it  could  nev^er  cease  to  be  beautiful,  no  matter 
how  old  ;  and  behind  the  "  fresh  complexion,  beautiful 
lips,  and  clear,  laughing  eyes"  extolled  by  her  lover, 
there  shone  a  heart  full  of  truth,  nobility,  honor,  and 
affection,  flashing  upon  every  grace  a  touch  of  spiritual 
beauty. 

Lord  Pons  was  a  becoming  partner.  His  dress,  too, 
had  been  carefully  selected.  He  stood  in  crimson  shoes 
with  long  points,  decorated  with  small  plaques  of  enamel 
and  on  the  fore-part  an  embroidered  flower.  His  stock- 
ings were  of  white  silk  from  Africa,  worked  with  conven- 
tional roses  in  their  true  colors  ;  and  they  fitted  him,  to 
use  an  expression  of  the  day,  "as  if  he  had  been  born 
with  them  on."  Over  his  breeches  of  silk  hung  a  robe  of 
garnet-colored  samite,  visible  through  a  bliaut  of  pale 
green  silk,  woven  in  open-work  of  stars,  cut  into  "  teeth  " 
around  the  edge,  and  adorned  at  the  neck,  wrists,  and 
bottom  with  strips  of  heavy  gold  embroidery.  The  bliaut 
was  fastened  with  a  button  of  pure  gold  curiously  wrought, 
while  under  its  fold  there  was  a  belt  of  crimson  leather 
with  a  buckle  of  enamelled  silver.  His  mantle — of  the 
style  called  Phrygian — was  of  dark  green  brocade  lined 
with  a  tafieta  of  a  color  between  straw  and  orange,  and 
edged  with  light  grey  fur  from  the  belly  of  the  Siberian 
squirrel. 

Judged  by  our  own  intensely  practical  sense  these  gar- 
ments were  too  brilliant  for  a  man,  but  the  form  they 
clothed  banished  all  suggestions  of  effeminacy.     It  was  a 

VOL.  11. — 6. 


82  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

large  and  muscular  figure,  the  t3'pe  of  a  knight's  person, 
as  that  of  Alazais  was  the  tj'pe  of  a  lady's.  Large  shoul- 
ders and  large  square  hands — there  was  a  gold  ring  on 
the  left  hand — -bespoke  the  swordsman,  while  wide  hips 
and  legs  bent  outward  a  little  indicated  a  cavalier  who 
could  meet  the  shock  of  battle  without  being  unhorsed.  A 
slender  waist  and  a  broad  chest  added  to  the  expression 
of  power.  His  eyes  were  vair,'^ — that  is,  the  irises  were 
vari-colored,  full  of  points  and  lines,  and  so — as  all  agreed 
— most  brilliant  and  most  penetrating.  Above  his  high, 
broad  forehead  the  locks  were  cut  short  and  parted  in  the 
middle,  while  they  grew  long  behind.  A  plain  circlet  of 
gold  kept  them  in  place  ;  and  they  were  so  beautiful  and 
so  blonde  and  so  full  of  wavy  light  that — as  Amanieu  de 
Sescas  would  have  said — his  fair  head  seemed  "  gilded." 

But  Pons,  too,  was  better  than  a  type, — he  was  him- 
self. As  one  looked  at  him  one  thought  less  and  less  of 
his  beautiful  person  and  more  and  more  of  his  noble  air. 
What  one  saw  was  the  true  knight,  the  true  poet,  the  true 
lover.  One's  thoughts  recalled  that  saying  of  his  own  : 
"  The  loyal  friend  made  glad  by  love  must  be  gay  and 
joj'ous,  liberal,  straightforward,  bold,  and  warm-hearted  "  ; 
and  as  knight  and  lady  joined  hands  to  begin  the  dance, 
this  one  and  that  one  of  the  company,  touched  with  a 
sense  of  more  than  earthlj'  beauty,  repeated  to  themselves 
with  a  new  meaning  the  superlative  compliment  of  the 
time  :  ' '  Never  were  so  fair  a  couple  seen  before,  save  the 
sun  and  the  moon." 

Experience  is  powerless  to  prevent  us  :  when  we  think 
of  such  a  concord  of  hearts  and  wills,  such  a  harmony  of 
truth  and  beaut}-,  we  think  of  it  as  eternal.  So  felt  Pons 
and  Alazais  that  day  ;  so  felt  all  those  present.  Something 
final  had  been  achieved  ;  it  had  come,  and  it  must  endure. 

But  the  two  lovers  were  parted  again,  and  this  time  no 
interceding  friends   could  help  them.     Out   of  the  dim 


Pons  de  Capduelh  8 


J 


centuries  the  troubadour's  grief  still  echoes,  and  the  heart 
of  time  thrills  in  sjanpathy  with  it. 

Of  all  the  wretched  I  am  he  that  bears 
The  greatest  pain,  and  feels  the  greatest  woe  ; 
I  fain  would  die  ;  't  were  sweet  with  one  good  T)low 
To  end  my  life,  for  now  niy  heart  despairs  ; 
For  me  to  live  is  only  grief  and  dread, 
For  my  dear  lady,  Alazais,  is  dead. 

And  all  my  thoughts  are  full  of  dole  and  pain  , 
O  traitress,  Death,  't  is  true  past  all  denying  : 
The  best  of  earth  was  yours  when  she  lay  dying. 

How  blest  were  I,  how  saved  from  grievous  cares, 
Had  I  been  first,  by  God's  good-will,  to  go  ; 
Alas  for  me !     Yet  I  will  not  be  slow 
To  follow  her  ;  King  Jesus,  hear  my  prayers  : 

Great  God,  the  true,  the  just,  absolve  her  ;  Head 
Of  all  the  glad,  oh  save  her,  Christ  that  bled  ; 
St.  Peter  and  vSt.  John,  her  soul  sustain  ; 

For  all  that 's  good  was  hers  beyond  decrying. 
And  naught  that 's  wrong,  as  all  are  testifying. 

'T  is  meet,  O  Lord,  the  grief  this  world  now  wears, — 
Who  else  on  earth  such  loveliness  could  show. 
And  who  will  live  so  sweetly  here  below  -^ 

Of  what  avail  are  grace  and  merit  ?     Where  's 
The  worth  of  honor,  judgment  ne'er  misled. 
Beauty  and  wit,  and  courtly  thoughts  that  wed 
True  speech  with  deeds  that  noble  fame  attain  ? 
My  heart,  sad  world,  is  'gainst  you  loudly  crying  ; 
How  slight  your  worth, — to  praise  you  more  were  lying! 

God  hath  her  now,  and  every  angel  shares 
A  brighter  joy  that  she  hath  gone,  we  know  ; 
For  oft  we  say  and  eke  we  read  it  so  : 

"  What  God  approves,  the  praise  of  men  declares  "; 
Within  the  palace  was  she  quickly  led. 
Where  lily,  rose,  and  gladiole  are  spread  ; 
The  angels  praise  her  in  their  gladdest  strain, 
And  high  o'er  all  God  thrones  her,  signifying 
That  she  was  true,  the  truest  far  outvying. 


84  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Oh  what  a  loss — how  great  cannot  be  said  ! 
The  path  of  gladness  I  no  more  can  tread  ; 
And  song,  farewell  ! — my  Alazais  is  slain  ; 

With  grief  and  tears,  with  mourning  and  with  sighing, 
Her  woeful  death  my  heart  is  crucifying. 

New  thoughts,  Andreu,  my  miud  are  occupying  ; 
To  love  again — you  ne'er  will  see  me  trying.'^ 

Other  thoughts  were  indeed  in  his  mind, — thoughts  of 
the  heavenly  palace  and  of  the  surest  way  to  reach  it. 
His  gift  of  poetry  was  consecrated  to  the  service  of  the 
crusade,  and  he  sang  only  of  winning  eternal  joys. 

If  toward  his  God  a  man  be  false  and  dastard, 
'T  will  not  avail  him  to  be  rich  and  proud  ; 

For  Alexander  all  the  world  o'ermastered, 
Yet  when  he  left  it  carried  but  a  shroud.'^ 

And  then,  after  he  had  borne  witness,  he  donned  his 
armor  once  more,  and  sailed  away  to  Palestine  in  the  host 
of  the  third  crusade. 

"  There  he  died," — in  so  brief  a  record  are  the  only 
tidings  of  his  after  life  that  come  to  us. 

Yet  these  few  words  tell  enough.  The  crusader's  one 
desire  was  gratified,  his  life  was  rounded  out,  and  noble 
Pons  de  Capduelh — knight,  poet,  lover,  and  soldier  of 
the  cross — took  his  merited  place  among  the  few  ideal 
characters  of  histor}-. '" 


XXIX 

VODABLE  AND   PEIROL 
The  Dalfin.     Perdigo.     Peirol 

THOUGH  we  must  say  farewell  to  the  wonderful  region 
of  Le  Puy  and  the  moving  histories  associated  with 
it,  we  shall  not  lack  for  striking  scenery  and  interesting 
troubadours. 

The  once  volcanic  mountains  of  Auvergne  are  now 
grass}'  and  luxuriant,  but  there  are  still  craters  to  be 
seen  :  the  riven  walls  of  castles  crowning  the  dark  peaks. 
Here  is  Buron,  for  instance,  hanging  like  a  thunder-cloud 
athwart  the  sky,  if  a  castle  may  be  said  to  do  such  a 
thing.  Topping  a  vast  rock  of  black  and  crystalline 
basalt,  it  looks  indeed  like  a  volcano's  mouth,  the  gate- 
way of  smoke,  flame,  and  destruction,  and  one  can  easily 
imagine  a  stream  of  lava  pouring  down  through  the  little 
village,  across  the  mile  oi'  slope  clothed  with  vineyards 
and  wheat- fields,  to  choke  the  pleasant  Allier  meandering 
so  amiably  through  its  green  meadows  in  the  distance. 
In  fact,  exactly  this  occurred  at  one  time  or  another,  for 
the  cone  of  basalt  was  actually  a  volcano  and  the  ruined 
castle  occupies  its  crater, — dead  feudalism  riding  the  dead 
earthquake. 

In  troubadour  times  nothing  worse  came  down  the  rock, 
however,  than  mail-clad  knights  and  fair  ladies,  for  this 
was  a  stronghold  of  the  counts  of  Auvergne.  Not  far  to 
the  north  lies  their  ancient  capital,  Vic-le-Comte,  with 

85 


86 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


commanding  fragments  of  its  ancient  defences  ;  and  a 
little  below  the  castle  of  Buron  in  the  ruined  Abbey  of  the 
Shining  Vale  the  shadows  of  the  trees  dance  upon  their 
mouldering  tombs  in  utter  disregard  of  mundane  pride. 

But  it  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  AUier  that  we  are 
chiefly  interested.  A  certain  count  of  Auvergne,  succeed- 
ing to  the  fief  while  young,  was  unceremoniously  robbed 
of  his  patrimony  and  title  by  an  able  but  wicked  uncle. 


^i^^Mm^M 


7**-*- 


tf^i.- 


^^^^""^' 


BURON. 

After  a  time  he  recovered  a  small  part  of  his  territory,  and 
adapting  himself  to  the  circumstances  took  the  title  of 
"  dalfin  "  (dauphin).  One  of  his  daughters  was  the  vis- 
countess of  Polignac,  whom  Guilhem  de  Sain  Leidier 
celebrated,  and  his  heir,  known  in  history  as  Dauphin 
Robert  I.  but  in  Provencal  annals  only  as  the  Dalfin,  was 
long  a  prominent  figure  among  the  troubadours. 

Leaving — quite  willingly — the  stuffy  town  of  Issoire  and 
its  famous  but  dingy  old  church  of  vSt.  Paul,  we  turn  to  the 
southeast,  pass  the  castle  of  Malbattu  and  the  village  of 


03 
< 

o 
> 


Vodable  89 

Solignat,  and  after  a  drive  of  some  five  or  six  miles  arrive 
at  a  group  of  houses  planted  like  a  horseshoe  around  the 
base  of  a  conical  peak  of  basalt.  At  the  summit  of  the 
peak  we  find  only  a  bit  of  masonr}-,  the  merest  vestige  of 
a  wall  ;  but  there,  until  Richelieu  destroyed  it,  stood  a 
"  beau,  pdit  chateau,'"  and  in  this  castle,  the  capitol  of  his 
little  dominion,  Robert  the  Dalfin  sang,  feasted,  and  enter- 
tained the  poets  for  two  entire  generations  (i  169-1234).' 

Hardly  a  spot  in  the  Midi  is  more  sacred  in  the  cult  of 
the  troubadours  than  Vodable.  Here,  we  may  be  sure, 
came  Pons  de  Capduelh  and  Guilhem  de  Sain  Leidier. 
Occasionally,  in  the  Dalfin's  early  years,  Peire  Rogier  and 
Peire  d'Alvernhe  must  have  ridden  up  from  Clermont. 
Gui  d'Uissel  came  here  often  to  pay  his  addresses  to  the 
Dalfin's  wife,  and  Brunenc  of  Rodez  clattered  into  the 
courtyard  every  now  and  then  on  his  good  bay  stallion,^ 
for  he  was  a  favorite  of  the  Dalfin's.  Nor  were  these  by 
any  means  all.  Ugo  de  la  Bacalairia,  Gaucelm  Faidit,  and 
Guiraut  de  Borneil,  the  "  Master  of  the  Troubadours," 
were  evidently  acquainted  with  Robert  and  probably 
shared  his  hospitality;  and  Sain  Circ,  we  know,  visited 
here.  All  these,  however,  we  pass  by — as  well  as  others 
who  might  be  named — and  come  finally  to  Perdigo  and 
Peirol,  who  were  not  merely  sojourners  at  the  Dalfin's 
castle,  but  regular  proteges  living  upon  his  bounty. 

Of  Perdigo,  the  ambassador  to  Rome '  (1208),  we  have 
already  heard. 

Though  but  a  fisher-lad,  he  was  bright  and  gifted,  and 
he  made  such  good  use  of  his  talents  in  singing,  playing 
the  viol,  and  composing  airs  and  verses,  as  to  win  the  re- 
gard of  all.  The  Dalfin  befriended  him,  made  him  one  of 
his  knights,  equipped  him,  and  gave  him  lands  and  rev- 
enues ;  and  Peire,  the  king  of  Aragon,  loaded  him  with 
presents.  The  prince  of  Orange,  too,  was  one  of  his 
patrons,  and  Ugo  del  Bauz,  the  son-in-law  of  Barral,  who 


90  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

cared  for  Peire  Vidal  after  that  mishap  befell  his  tongue, 
was  among  his  particular  friends. 

His  own  disloyalty  and  ingratitude  changed  all  this 
good  fortune,  however,  into  bad.  Not  only  did  he  join 
the  side  of  Montfort,  but  after  the  battle  of  Muret  (1213} 
he  sang  exultingly  of  Peire' s  overthrow.  None  of  his  old 
patrons  could  forgive  him  such  ingratitude.  The  Dalfin 
revoked  his  gifts  ;  and  when  a  few  3'ears  later  Montfort 
and  the  prince  of  Orange  perished,  Perdigo  begged  the 
privilege  of  hiding  himself  in  a  Cistercian  monastery,  and 
there  he  died.' 

Peirol,  the  Dalfin' s  other  protege,  came  from  a  place 
that  bore  his  name, — across  the  hills  near  Rochefort- 
Montagne,  and  thereb}-  hangs — an  excursion. 

M}^  heart — or  something  very  near  my  heart — sank 
within  me,  as  I  stepped  from  the  train  at  Miouze- Roche- 
fort.  It  seemed  like  trifling  with  Providence  to  risk  the 
valuable  mechanism  of  a  human  ph\-sique  for  twenty-four 
hours  in  such  a  wilderness,  for  the  place  consisted  of  a 
railroad  station,  two  or  three  little  "  country  stores  "  for 
the  farmer-folk,  and  a  couple  of  inns  to  match.  It  was 
clear  that  I  should  have  nothing  to  eat,  and  probabl}-  a 
ha3^-loft  would  be  my  lodging. 

Selecting  the  least  unpromising  of  the  inns,  I  entered. 
There  was  one  room  for  all  guests.  The  floor  was  of 
earth  ait  nahirel ;  the  ceiling,  of  boards  well  smoked. 
Here  were  shelves  loaded  with  plates,  there  a  stove,  there 
a  closet,  and  5'onder  a  cupboard  ;  and  peasants  with  their 
caps  on  sat  drinking  at  tables  dyed  \yy  generations  of  wine- 
cups.     Ah,  travel  has  its  martyrs,  too  ! 

Nothing  of  the  sort.  The  day  when  Smollett  found  all 
the  hotels  of  the  Midi  bad  was  long  ago;  now  all  are  good, 
— except  at  Pamiers.  Even  in  this  little  tavern  every- 
thing was  clean  ;  and  when  dinner-time  arrived  I  had  this 
bill  of  fare, — or  more  exactly  this  fare  without  the  bill  : 


Peirol  91 

Sonpe  du  menage. 

Truites  f rites. 

Biftek  an  beiinc. 

Canard  sauvagc  a  la  chasseur. 

Asperges  a  Vhuile. 

Fro)nage. 

Poniiites. 

Biscuits. 

And  the  cloth  was  fresh  and  white.  And  the  wine  made 
red  spots  upon  it.  And  the  trout  had  scarcely  got  over 
sparkling.  And  the  beefsteak  showed  marks  of  the 
broiler.  And  the  duck  had  shot-holes  enough  in  his 
pectoral  muscle  to  explain  why  he  was  there.  And  then, 
to  pass  the  night  in,  I  was  given  a  clean  bed,  soft  and  well 
made. 

But  stop  !  I  have  put  the  later  first.  Before  dining  I 
had  to  earn  the  dinner  by  a  drive  of  twenty  miles,  and  it 
was  not  a  barouche  and  pair  this  time.  Perched  on  a  seat 
without  a  back,  in  a  high,  two-wheeled  oscillating  engine 
called  a  farm-wagon,  I  was  quickly  shaken  down  into  a 
mere  feature  of  the  landscape,  and  that  a  very  small  one. 
Beside  me  sat  a  stolid,  monosyllabic  teamster  in  a  blue 
blouse,  who  filled  out  the  type  of  a  conventional  x\uvergnat 
to  perfection.  The  road  was  uneventful.  The  occasional 
women,  trudging  along  with  very  short  skirts,  were  far 
from  pretty.  Nothing  saved  my  faculties  from  coma  but 
the  horse.  The  sleek  beast  was  evidently  studying — and 
it  had  been  the  study  of  a  long  life,  apparently — how  to 
attain  the  minimum  of  speed  and  still  perform  the  motions 
of  a  trot.  He  had  discovered  that  so  long  as  his  feet 
shuffled  through  a  certain  kind  of  dance  his  Boeotian 
driver  would  not  observe  the  snail's  pace.  Driv^er  and 
steed  were  content,  and  I  was  of  no  account.  Impatience 
was  in  vain  ;  and  after  a  time  I  settled  down  into  a  Rennis- 
like  sympathy  to  study  and  admire  the  cleverness  of  that 
rascally  horse. 


92  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

But  after  a  while  I  started.  A  new  figure  had  appeared, 
— a  shepherdess  in  woollen  socks  and  wooden  shoes,  and 
skirts  that  reached  not  far  below  her  knees.  On  her  head 
there  was  a  white  lace  cap,  and  over  that,  shading  a 
comely  face,  rose  a  black  straw  bonnet,  patterned  after  one 
of  the  earliest  forms  of  Roman  helmets.  In  that  attire  she 
strode  calmly  and  not  ungracefully  along  with  her  flock, 
— knitting  the  while,  and  wholly  unmindful  of  a  certain 
stranger  travelling  in  those  parts. 

"  Tir?/s,"  I  exclaimed  to  myself,  "  there  is  Marcabru's 
prudent  shepherdess  !  "  And  as  I  called  to  ni}-  own  mind 
the  pastoral  that  recounts  her  prudence,  it  is  perhaps  fit- 
ting that  I  call  it  also  to  yours. 

It  is  Marcabru,  the  troubadour,  who  speaks  : 

The  other  day  beside  a  hedge 

I  found  a  half-breed  shepherdess 

Chock-full  of  merriment  and  sense  ; 

The  lassie  was  a  peasant  maid. 

Well  clothed  in  cape  and  fur-lined  robe, 

Chemise  of  ticking,  homely  gown. 

Stockings  of  wool,  and  sturdy  shoes. 

I  crossed  the  field  and  went  to  her  ; 

"  My  lass,"  quoth  I,  "  you  pretty  thing, 

I  'm  very  sorry  't  is  so  cold." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  peasant  maid, 

"  Thanks  to  the  Lord  and  my  good  nurse 

The  wind  may  bluster, — I  care  not  ; 

I  'm  light  of  heart,  robust,  and  well." 

"  My  lass,"  quoth  I,  "  my  gentle  soul, 
I  've  put  myself  a  good  deal  out 
To  come  and  keep  you  company, 
For  no  such  pretty  peasant  maid 
Can  tend  a  flock  as  large  as  this, 
In  such  a  lonely  sort  of  place, 
Without  the  right  companionship." 


A  Prudent  Shepherdess  93 

"Good  sir,"  said  she,  "  whate'er  I  am 
I  know  good  sense  from  folly  well  ; 
Let  your  '  comjianionsbip  '  remain, 
My  lord,"  so  spoke  the  peasant  maid, 
"  In  circles  more  befitting  it  ; 
For  one  like  me  't  were  impudence 
To  try  monopolizing  you." 

"  ]My  lass,  your  pretty  manners  prove 
Your  father  was  a  courtly  knight 
Who  gave  your  mother  love  and  you, — 
So  fair  he  thought  the  peasant  maid  ; 
Each  look  finds  more  to  praise  in  you, 
And  I  would  warm  me  in  your  joy, 
Were  you  but  human  in  the  least." 

"  Good  sir,  my  family  and  stock 
Have  dealt,  however  far  I  look, 
With  nothing  but  the  spade  and  plow, 
My  lord,"  so  spoke  the  peasant  maid  ; 
"  And  many  a  fellow  plays  the  knight 
Who  ought  to  do  the  same  as  they 
For  six  good  da\s  in  every  seven." 

"  My  lass,"  quoth  I,  "  some  gentle  fay 
Bestowed  upon  you  at  your  birth 
A  beauty  of  the  rarest  sort. 
Vouchsafed  no  other  peasant  maid  ; 
And  I  engage,  if  you  '11  be  mine. 
The  world  shall  have  another  such, — 
A  lovely  duplicate  of  you." 

"  My  lord,  you  've  flattered  me  so  much 
I  'm  really  tired  and  bored  to  death  ; 
But  since  you  've  so  enhanced  my  worth, 
My  lord,"  replied  the  peasant  maid, 
*'  For  that  I  '11  give  you  when  you  go 
The  old  refrain,  '  Gape,  ninn}',  gape  ! ' 
Meanwhile  be  satisfied  to  hope  !  " 

"  My  lass,  a  shy  and  cruel  heart 

Is  made  by  training  tame  and  mild  ; 


94  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

And  well  I  kuow  that  for  a  day 
With  such  as  you,  a  peasant  maid, 
One  can  enjoy  sweet  comradeship 
In  warm  affection  of  the  heart, 
And  neither  be  a  whit  deceived." 

"  Good  sir,  the  man  whom  folly  prompts, 

Will  vow  and  swear  and  promise  troth  ; 

If  only  you  would  marry  me. 

My  lord, — "  replied  the  peasant  maid  ; 

"  But  just  to  go  one  half  the  way 

I  '11  not  give  up  my  maidenhood 

And  sell  a  good  name  for  a  bad." 

"  My  lass,  all  creatures  here  on  earth 
Are  bound  to  act  their  nature  out ; 
And  't  is  our  duty,  yours  and  mine, 
To  make  a  match,  my  peasant  maid  ; 
The  fields  will  give  us  a  retreat, 
And  more  secure  you  could  not  be 
To  entertain  sweet  company." 

"  True,  true,  good  sir  ;  and  so  't  is  right 

The  fool  his  trifling  should  pursue, 

His  courtly  venture  the  gallant. 

The  peasant  swain  the  peasant  maid  ; 

Good  sense  too  often  is  forgot 

When  people  lose  their  self-control, — 

At  least,  that 's  what  the  old  folks  tell." 

"  My  fair  one,  I  have  never  seen 
A  more  beguiling  face  than  yours, 
Nor  found  a  more  deceitful  heart." 

"  Sir,  [go  away  !  that 's  not  so  sure  ;] 
But  you — like  him  in  the  picture — gape 
For  manna  that  another  gets."  ^ 

Poor  Marcabrti  !     Perhaps  if  his  eyes  had  not  been  so 
full  of  shadows — but  of  that  in  the  next  chapter. 

My  shepherdess  proved  a  good  omen  at  all  events,  for 


Peirol  95 

her  flock  was  not  yet  out  of  sight  when  we  crossed  a 
brook,  climbed  an  easy  slope  lighted  up  with  yellow 
broom,  and  entered  a  village.  To  be  sure  it  was  only  a 
poor  little  hamlet,  about  a  dozen  low  cottages  of  stone 
with  high  thatched  roofs  drowsing  in  the  shade  of  beeches 
and  firs  ;  but  present  insignificance  did  not  matter, — 
Peirol  was  born  there. 

If  the  indifference  of  the  shepherdess  had  touched  my 
vanity,  amends  were  made  here,  for  the  entire  population 
gathered  around  my  carriage  and  through  the  medium  of 
my  driver — for  they  spoke  only  a  patois — spread  before 
me  their  store  of  information  with  a  generosity  that  atoned 
for  its  meagreness. 

"  Ruins?" 

No,  there  were  no  ruins,  but  they  could  show  me  where 
the  castle  had  stood. 

I  was  not  surprised  to  find  no  walls  or  towers,  for  Peirol 
was  only  a  poor  knight,  and  his  castle — if,  indeed,  he 
owned  the  castle  in  which  he  first  saw  the  light — was 
doubtless  even  less  of  an  affair  than  Miraval's.  So, 
thankful  even  for  a  tradition  and  escorted  by  the  mass- 
meeting  of  young  men  and  maidens,  old  men  and  children, 
I  moved  on  to  a  place  at  the  edge  of  the  village  where  the 
ground  rose  a  little.  The  spot  is  occupied  now  by  a  shal- 
low pond  full  of  geese  ;  but  there,  I  was  assured,  a  castle 
had  anciently  stood. 

Here  Peirol,  the  troubadour,  began  life,  but  very  wisely 
he  did  not  stay  here.  His  own  lord  was  the  verse-loving 
Robert  ;  so  to  Vodable  he  flew,  as  early  as  his  wings 
would  bear  him,  with  this  agreeable  message  :  "  I  give 
3-ou  good  and  pleasant  counsel  :  sing  oft  and  love  !  " 
Talented,  "  courteous,  and  well-favored,"  he  was  quickly 
made  welcome.  Lodging,  "raiment,  and  arms"  were 
freely  given  him,  and  thus  encouraged  he  made  haste  and 
fell  in  love  with  the  Dalfin's  sister. 


96 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Neither  can  we  blame  him  for  that,  for  she  wa.s  no  ordi- 
nary woman  :  onl}^  a  remarkably  clever  person  could  elude 
as  long  as  she  did  all  the  telescopes  and  spyglasses  of  the 
Romance  investigators. 

This  is  worth  elucidating.  The  lad}-  got  herself  into 
history  under  the  name  of  Sail  de  Claustra.  To  explain  so 
odd  a  form  as  "  Sail,"  scholars  called  it  "  a  violent  con- 
traction ' '  of  Assalide.     To  be  sure  there  is  no  evidence 


AT    P£IROL. 


that  she  was  called  Assalide,  but  certainly  she  might  have 
been  ;  and  millions  of  people  have  slept  well  o'  nights 
because  the}^  thought  the  earth  rested  on  a  turtle,  and 
that  on  nothing,  while  they  would  never  have  closed  an 
eye  had  it  been  supposed  to  rest  on  simph'  nothing  at  all. 
Then  Claustra  :  the  region  has  been  scoured  for  a  place 
of  that  name  and  without  success  ;  it  had  "  disappeared." 
Only  a  little  while  since  was  the  truth  discovered.  "  Sail 
de   Claustra"    is   merely   a   nickname,    and    it    signifies 


Pcirol  97 

"  Escaped  from  the  Cloister."  I^ike  a  fly  caught  by  the 
amber  in  the  very  act  of  buzzing,  the  Dalfin's  lively  sister 
was  fixed  for  all  time  scrambling  over  a  convent  wall,  and 
by  this  girlish  prank  she  literall}-  ' '  made  a  name  ' "  for 
herself  that  has  quite  eclipsed  the  one  her  father  chose." 

To  Sail  the  troubadour  devoted  his  talents,  and  the 
biographer  tells  us  that  the  Dalfin  was  mightily  pleased 
with  his  verses  ;  which  was  very  natural,  too,  for  they 
were  decidedly  clever. 

When  by  love  invited, 

I  sing,— 
More,  far  more,  delighted 

Than  with  flowers  in  spring  ; 
Though  by  sorrow  blighted 

I  cling 
Still  where  I  am  slighted 

And  my  homage  bring  ; 
Loss  and  pain 
Will  turn  to  gain  ; 

I  '11  bear  the  transient  sting  : 

To  and  fro  the  world  doth  swing ! 

Heart  and  will,  unseated, 

Belong 
Now  to  her  ;  defeated, 

Still  my  hope  is  strong 
That  I  '11  not  be  cheated. 

For  long 
Have  her  words  repeated 

Thoughts  that  prompt  my  song  ; 
Though  I  'm  slain 
I  '11  not  complain 

Of  any  present  wrong  : 

Joys  are  coming  in  a  throng.^ 

Songs  like  these  could  not  fail  to  please  the  lady,  too. 
It  was  delightful  to  hear  the  poet  sing  his  pretty  canzones 
in  her  sunny  hall,  to  look  charmingly  unconscious,  and  all 


98  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  while  to  understand  perfectly  that  every  woman  pres- 
ent was  dying  with  envy  ;  and  besides,  if  Restori  is  not 
mistaken,  Lady  Sail  found  pleasure  in  singing  the  can- 
zones herself. 

But  then  :  she  was  a  great  lady.  Her  husband  was  a 
rich  baron.  Lord  Beraut  of  Mercceur,  some  connection 
doubtless  of  Oizil  whom  Lady  Alazais  married  ;  her  sister 
was  the  mistress  of  Polonhac  ;  her  brother  was  the  Dalfin, 
and  her  fathers  had  been  the  counts  of  Auvergne.  How 
could  she  love  a  poor  knight  like  Peirol  ? 

The  difficulties  of  his  position  made  the  troubadour 
desperate,  as  they  did  many  another  in  a  similar  place. 
No  doubt  he  felt  deeply  smitten,  and  he  could  well  declare 
that  love  penetrated  him  b}-  his  ' '  whole  bodj^  as  water 
does  the  sponge. ' '  He  could  not  recover  from  his  passion, 
and  lamented  often  that  "  a  kindled  fire  is  hard  to  put 
out."  His  affection  could  not  even  vary  ;  it  would  ever 
remain  constant  whether  fortunate  or  not,  "  like  the  flower 
they  tell  of,  which  keeps  turning  all  the  da}'  toward  the 
sun."  And  yet,  with  all  this  consuming  passion  within 
him,  he  dared  not  crave  a  return  of  his  love,  for  he  said 
himself :  "  If  I  asked  her  for  aught,  she  would  be  on  her 
guard  against  me  after  that."  Must  he,  then,  be  silent, 
and  keep  on  waiting,  as  he  once  expressed  it,  for  a  "  beau- 
tiful nothing"  ?  No,  he  was  a  poet  and  he  could  sing  ; 
and  though  no  word  in  his  poems  should  even  hint  his 
lady's  name,  he  was  quite  sure  she  would  understand. 

Like  tbe  swan  when  death  is  nigh, 

Dj'ing  I  will  sing  ; 
'T  will  be  comeliest  so  to  die, 
Least  will  be  the  sting  ; 
For  Love  hath  caught  me  in  his  net, 
And  many  woes  my  heart  beset ; 
But  this  I  gain  :  that  o'er  and  o'er 
I  've  learned  I  never  loved  before. 


Peirol  99 

Ceaseless!}'  to  plead  and  sigh 

Ends  by  wearying, — 
From  my  looks,  when  she  is  by, 
Silent  prayers  shall  spring  ; 
Whate'er  she  wills  I  then  shall  get, 
And  joy  and  love  are  sweeter  yet 

When  heart,  come  nigh  to  heart,  doth  pour, 
Unasked,  what  each  would  fain  implore. 

Song,  to  greet  my  fair  one  fly. 

Asking  not  a  thing. 
Yet  with  prudent  sighs  tell  why 
I  am  languishing  ; 
Beseech  her  never  to  forget 
My  loyal  heart  on  her  is  set  ; 
Her  vassal,  I  will  e'er  adore, — 
Or  die,  if  that  would  please  her  more.' 

Still  there  was  no  answering  look,  and  the  poet  fotmd 
himself  at  the  last  extremity. 

Good  lady,  feign  some  little  sign  of  favor, — 

'T  will  cheer  my  heart,  't  will  seem  a  taste  of  rapture. 
For  well  you  know  you  cannot  lose  your  capture  ; 
With  kindly  look  but  kiss  the  pain  I  feel, 
For  that  will  keep  me  ever  true  and  leal ; 
And  of  the  heart  I  've  given  give  back  a  little  !' 

At  last  the  Dalfin  interceded  for  Peirol,  meaning  of 
course  that  his  sister  should  go  only  as  far  as  the  pro- 
prieties allowed.  But  he  argued  the  case  too  well,  and 
before  long  a  ftiU-fledged  scandal  was  a- wing,  for  Peirol' s 
prayer  had  been  answered  and  his  joy  and  exultation 
could  not  keep  the  secret.  The  brother  was  very  angr}' 
then,  and  without  compunction  banished  the  lover  from 
Vodable.    So  ended  the  troubadour's  one  great  love-affair. 

Still  we  do  not  feel  greatly  cast  down  ;  why  should  we  ? 
— probably  he  did  not. 

Peirol  was  a  man  of  quick  wit,  lively  fancy,  and  mobile 


lOO  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

sensibilities.  Had  he  been  a  composer  in  our  own  time,  he 
might  have  written  Oh  Promise  Me.  Yet  in  spite  of  his 
talent  we  can  see  in  him  onl}'  a  gay,  shallow,  and  light 
adventurer.  After  hoping  and  begging  for  a  while  to  be 
recalled,  he  contented  himself  with  humbler  sweethearts, 
and  even,  it  would  seem,  with  companionship  of  a  lower 
order  j-et.  The  rest  of  his  career  was  every  waj^  pitched 
upon  a  humbler  key.  No  longer  supported  by  the  Dalfin 
he  could  not  maintain  the  dignity  of  a  knight,  and  moved 
about  the  country  from  town  to  town  and  castle  to  castle 
as  a  common  joglar.  His  poetical  style  was  marred — so 
the  Monk  of  Montaudon  suggests — by  living  in  low  society 
at  Clermont  ;  and  according  to  the  same  authority  he  be- 
came "  drier  than  fire- wood,"  and  for  thirty  years  could 
not  afford  a  new  coat. 

Still  there  was  a  loftier  side  to  his  nature,  as  there  often 
is  in  very  frivolous  characters.  While  still  at  Vodable  he 
thought  very  earnestly  of  going  on  the  crusade,  and  had  a 
tenso  with  Love  on  the  project.  I^ove  told  him  plainly 
that  the  Turks  were  not  going  to  be  driven  out  of  Jerusa- 
lem by  warriors  like  him,  and  he  would  better  be  faithful 
to  love  and  poetry.  Apparently  he  followed  this  advice. 
But  in  his  later  and  humbler  days  he  visited  the  Holy 
Land  as  a  pilgrim,  and  wrote  a  song  of  devout  gratitude 
and  pious  enthusiasm  that  was  worthy  of  a  greater  man.'" 

His  later  career  is  mainly  a  series  of  interrogation-marks. 
Blacatz  befriended  him,  he  probably  visited  Toulouse,  and 
possibly  he  lived  for  a  time  at  the  court  of  Monferrat  after 
Raimbaut  de  Vaqueiras  had  gone  to  Constantinople. 
Finally  he  betook  himself  to  Montpellier,  married,  "  set- 
tled down,"  and  there  died." 

Exit  Peirol,  but  the  Dalfin  remains  ;  and  he,  if  not  a 
remarkable  poet,  was  a  remarkable  man.  He  wrote 
verses,  indeed,  but  not  love-songs  ;  and,  preferring  the 
dignity  of  patron  and  arbiter  elegaiitianim,  he  gained  the 


The  Dalfin 


lOI 


respect  of  the  foremost  poets  of  the  time  as  a  discerning 
critic.  Etienne  de  Bourbon  spoke  of  him  as  a  man  of  the 
most  acute  intelligence.  For  fortj^  j'ears  he  devoted  him- 
self to  collecting  books  upon  theological  subjects,  reading 
for  himself  those  in  the  popular  tongue,  and — it  is  thought 
— having  those  in  Latin  translated  for  him.  In  his  last 
years  he  eni'oyed  a  great  reputation  for  piety,  and  was  even 


THE    CASTLE    OF   VODABLE. 

said  to  possess,  long  before  he  died,  those  mysterious  re- 
productions of  the  Saviour's  wounds  called  the  stigmata. 

But  Robert  had  a  long  career,  with  time  for  many  things 
before  piety,  and  it  was  only  by  experience  that  he  learned 
to  prize  mcsura,  moderation,  as  "  the  thing  most  useful  to 
men  in  this  life."  At  the  outset  he  nearly  sank  his  patri- 
nomy  in  liberalities,  and  then  he  recovered  himself  h\  a 
closeness  that  has  left  amusing  traces  in  histor}-. 

At  one   time   he   was   in   love   with  Lady   Comtor,   a 


I02  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

daughter  of  the  viscount  of  Turenne  and  a  niece  of  Maria 
de  Ventadorn,  and  occasional!}^  when  visiting  her  found 
that  he  had  not  put  money  enough  in  his  purse.  The 
viscount's  bailiff,  Peire  Pelissier,  was  a  courteous  man 
and  readily  accommodated  the  Dalfin  with  funds  in  such 
emergencies ;  but  when  he  suggested  repayment,  his 
debtor  preferred  to  think  of  the  loans  as  presents,  and 
rather  than  venture  within  the  bailiff's  reach  abandoned 
the  lad}'.  Upon  this  Pelissier,  who  was  a  poet,  did  not 
shrink  from  expressing  his  opinion  on  the  matter  in  some 
verses  '"  ;  and  as  talent,  like  noble  birth,  was  a  patent  of 
equality,  the  Dalfin  answered  him  rhyme  for  rhyme,  but 
only  to  announce  flatly  that  he  would  never  let  him  have 
a  denier. 

At  another  time  our  shrew^d  prince  was  paying  his  ad- 
dresses to  Lady  Maurina,  who  lived  not  far  away  in  one 
of  his  own  castles.  She  was  not,  it  appears,  a  very  saga- 
cious housewife — or,  on  second  thought,  perhaps  she  was 
— and,  finding  one  day  that  she  had  nothing  to  fry  her 
eggs  with,  she  sent  to  the  Dalfin's  bailiff,  asking  "  Would 
he  kindly — ";  whereupon  the  bailiff,  cutting  a  side  of 
bacon  in  two,  sent  her  one  of  the  halves.  Maurina  seems 
to  have  been  disappointed  at  receiving  so  little,  and  to 
have  said  as  much  to  some  one  ;  and  a  restless  cousin  '^  of 
the  Dalfin's,  the  bishop  of  Clermont,  a  scheming,  grasp- 
ing, and  pleasure-loving  fellow,  thought  it  a  good  oppor- 
tunity for  a  thrust  ;  for  in  that  day  if  a  baron  did  anything 
that  his  neighbors  disapproved,  he  was  at  once  assailed 
with  satirical  verses.  So  he  came  out  in  a  little  poem, 
declaring  that  if  a  servant  of  his  did  so  mean  a  thing  he 
would  make  an  end  of  him,  but — the  Dalfin's  bailiff  ' '  knew 
what  his  master's  wish  would  be."  The  Dalfin  was  not 
backward  in  retorting  with  something  pointed  about  a 
love-affair  of  the  bishop's.  The  prelate  rejoined,  and  the 
Dalfin  then  closed  the  discussion  b}^  remarking  :  "  Were 


The  Dalfin  and  the  King  103 

I  to  say  of  him  what  I  know,  he  would  lose  his  bishopric 
and  I  my  good  lireediug." 

Yes,  the  lord  of  Vodable  was  a  mixture  of  qualities  and 
we  are  the  more  convinced  of  it  when  we  find  that  he  ac- 
cumulated his  library  of  religious  books  by  robbing  the 
monasteries  of  the  neighborhood,  and  only  a  threat  of  ex- 
communication from  the  pope  himself  could  moderate  his 
appetite  for  inexpensive  theology. 

I,  for  one,  enjoy  these  homely  tales,  for  they  carry  us 
back  to  the  hearth,  and  even  to  the  buttery  of  another 
age  ;  but  perhaps  mj-  reader  would  prefer  a  battle  of  wits 
on  a  loftier  plane.     Very  well,  here  it  is. 

Auvergne  was  disputed  ground — both  France  and  Eng- 
land asserted  claims  to  it — and  King  Philippe  employed  a 
leisure  while  in  seizing  the  Dalfin's  town  of  Issoire,  and 
a  castle  belonging  to  Count  Guion,  his  cousin.  The  in- 
jured lords,  relying  upon  the  promises  of  England,  re- 
taliated ;  but  the  promised  support  failed,  and  they  were 
compelled  to  make  peace  with  France  as  best  they  could. 
Not  long  afterwards  the  two  countries  found  themselves 
at  war,  and  the  English  king  summoned  the  princes  of 
Auvergne  to  his  aid  ;  but  naturally  enough  they  felt  that 
he  had  forfeited  his  claim  upon  them,  and  gave  him  no 
help.  Then  a  sirvente  journeyed  across  the  mountains 
from  the  west  : 

"  Dalfin,  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  task,  you  and  Count 
Guion.  Not  long  since  you  pretended  to  be  a  good 
fighter.  You  made  an  oath  of  loyalty  to  me,  and  30U 
keep  faith  like  the  wolf  with  the  fox,  even  as  your  fawn- 
colored  hair  is  like  his. 

' '  You  refuse  me  help  because  you  hav^e  been  paid  to  do 
so,  because  a'OU  think  that  I  have  neither  gold  nor  silver 
at  Chinon,  and  because  3'ou  wish  for  3'our  ally  a  warlike 
and  powerful  king  ;  for  I  am  stingy  and  a  coward.  That 
is  why  you  have  gone  over. 


I04  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

"  One  question  I  will  send  up  to  Issoire  for  you:  do  j^ou 
feel  happy  about  losing  that  place  ?  What  are  j'ou  going 
to  do  up  there, — hire  troops  and  take  vengeance  ?  One 
thing  I  will  promise,  even  though  you  have  broken  your 
word  :  you  shall  find  me  an  active  foe,  banner  in 
hand. 

"  What  matters  it,  though,  if  a  bo}-  does  break  his 
word  ?  One  cannot  count  on  an  esquire  ;  but  let  him  look 
out  that  he  does  not  get  himself  into  further  trouble."  " 

It  was  a  bitter  draught  for  the  Dalfin,  and  we  can  easily 
imagine  him  climbing  to  the  top  of  the  highest  parapet 
of  loft}'  Vodable  and  shaking  his  mailed  fist  a  hundred 
times  toward  the  mountains  of  the  west.  But  England 
was  too  might}'  to  dety,  and  rage  could  onlj-  appeal  to  wit. 

"  King,  since  3'ou  have  been  singing  about  me,  3'ou 
must  listen  to  ni}-  singing  ;  but  you  frighten  me  so  much 
that  I  shall  have  to  go  back  to  3'our  side  and  answer  j'ou 
sweetly.  Still,  there  is  one  thing  I  must  saj-  :  if  3'ou 
throw  away  your  fief  3'ou  cannot  bid  me  recover  mine 
[Issoire].  For  I  am  not  a  crowned  king,  nor  am  I  so 
mighty  a  vassal  that  I  can  defend  mv  patrimony  even 
against  m\-  suzerain  ;  but  j-ou,  who  struck  terror  into  the 
Turks,  allow  the  king  of  France  to  keep  one  of  your 
cities,  Gisors,  though  3'OU  are  count,  duke,  and  king. 
Mighty  and  honored  lord,  you  dealt  liberally 
with  me  once,  and  had  j-ou  not  changed,  I  should  have 
joined  3'OU  now.  But  I  shall  recover  m3-  city,  and  that 
easily,  for  my  king — who  is  3'ours  also — has  promised  it, 
and  I  have  his  letter.     .     . 

"  King,  you  will  find  me  brave,  for  I  am  encouraged 
to  valor  b3'  a  lad3-  to  whom  I  am  so  devoted  that  whatever 
she  bids  I  am  prepared  to  do."  '^ 

Reflect  a  moment  !  In  that  "  dark  and  brutal  "  age 
we  find  a  king  and  a  lord  fighting  a  duel  with  poems  ! 

And  the  name  of  this  king — was  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion. 


XXX 

CLERMONT-FERRAND 
Marcabru 

THE  way  to  approach  Clermont-Ferrand  is  from  the 
west.  Outflanking  the  lordly  Puy  de  Dome  and 
leaving  Pontgibeaud  and  its  castle,  we  soon  begin  to  have 
glimpses  of  a  vast  basin  among  the  volcanic  mountains. 
Before  long  the  basin  is  fully  in  view  ;  and  far  below  us 
on  a  low  hill  in  the  centre  of  it  we  see  the  town,  like  a 
round  shield  on  the  grass,  with  its  cathedral  for  boss  and 
spike. 

No  silversmith  ever  displayed  a  piece  of  his  work  so 
skilfully.  As  we  approach,  the  shield  is  turned  this  way 
and  that.  Now  the  apse  of  the  cathedral  is  presented, 
now  a  transept  ;  now  it  is  the  facade,  now  the  other 
transept  ;  while  the  spires  appear  to  be  revolving  about 
each  other  all  the  while  in  the  mystic  dance  of  a  double 
star.  Yonder,  only  about  three  miles  distant  from  the 
city,  rises  the  dark  plateau  of  Gergovia,  where  Julius 
Caesar  received  the  hardest  buffeting  of  his  life,  while 
heroic  Vercingetorix  doomed  the  town  to  death  by  linking 
with  its  name  a  Roman  defeat. ' 

Insensibly  we  descend,  and  presently  the  city  is  about 
us,  and  the  purple  mountains  from  which  we  came  look 
very  far  away. 

Although  so  quiet,  even  dull,  its  houses  of  dark  lava- 
stone  just  saved  by  the  bright  spots  of  aerial  gardening, 

105 


io6 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Clermont-Ferrand  is  not  without  a  history,  and  the 
history  not  without  a  witness.  Founded  (586)  nine 
years  before  Augustine  and  his  forty  monks  began  their 
missionary  work  among  the  "angels"  of  Britain,  the 
church  of  Notre  Dame  du  Port  still  shows  a  little  of 
the  original  stone.     Three  times  it  has  looked  on  while 


THE  PUY  DE  DOME. 


the  town  was  ravaged  and  destroyed  :  first  by  Pepin,  next 
by  the  Normans,  and  then  by  Danes  and  Normans  to- 
gether. Once  it  .served  as  a  fortress.  Twice  burned  and 
twice  rebuilt  it  has  remained  substantially  as  we  see  it 
now  since  the  earliest  of  the  troubadours  began  to  sing," 

Delille,  Massillon,  and  Pascal  often  cros.sed  its  threshold. 
A  dozen  kings  have  gone  in  and  out.  In  11 75  the  grand 
entry  of  Henry  II.  and  his  luckless  boy,  Enric '  of  the 
Short  Mantle,  marked  the  high  tide  of  England's  power 
in  Europe  ;  for  Clermont  is  farther  east  than  Paris,  and 
nearer    Lake    Leman    than    the   Atlantic.      Here   came 


The  First  Crusade  107 

Thomas  a  Becket  (1164)  while  Raimbaut  de  Vaqueiras 
and  Ariiaut  de  Maruelh  were  boys  ;  and  within  these 
walls  he  meditated  the  designs  which  brought  his  face  to 
the  pavement  at  Canterbury  a  few  years  later.  Here  came 
that  unstable  monarch  Louis  (VII.)  the  Young;  here 
came  St.  Bernard,  and  here  came  the  troubadours. 

Gui  d'Uissel  was  canon  of  Montferrand,  then  a  town  by 
itself  but  long  since  married  to  Clermont.  Peire  Rogier  * 
was  canon  of  Clermont  (Clarmon)  and  went  from  Notre 
Dame  du  Port  to  the  castle  of  Narbonne.  More  famous 
than  either,  Peire  d'Alvernhe — whom  we  met  at  Puivert 
— was  born  in  this  diocese,  and  must  have  entered  the 
striped  church  of  Our  Lady  many  a  time. 

But  none  of  these  is  the  most  remarkable  association  of 
the  troubadour  age  that  we  come  upon  at  Clermont. 

In  the  last  days  of  bleak  November,  1095,  Babel  seemed 
re-enacted  here,  for  the  city  was  overwhelmed  with  a 
seething  crowd  that  had  come  from  all  corners  of  Christen- 
dom, opening  a  passage  through  hostile  countries  ignorant 
of  their  speech  by  holding  up  their  fingers  and  crossing 
them.  There  was  brave  Raimon  of  St.  Gilles,  the  rich 
count  of  Toulouse.  There  was  the  mighty  troubadour- 
duke,  Guilhem  of  Aquitaine,  whom  we  shall  meet  at  Poi- 
tiers.   And  there,  too,  was  a  potentate  greater  than  princes. 

The  throng  opens  reverently,  and  we  see  passing  by  us 
a  repulsive,  almost  hideous  man.  His  dwarfish  and  un- 
gainl}'  form  is  clad  in  a  robe  and  mantle  of  coarse  drugget. 
His  feet  and  his  head  are  bare.  His  face  is  "  pinched  and 
starved  like  a  death's-head  "  ;  and  deep  in  their  sockets 
roll  those  two  "  wild,  gleaming  eyes  "  which  long  haunted 
Gregory  of  Terracina.  He  is  a  walking  nightmare,  but 
the  princes  and  the  kings  of  Europe  are  just  now  as 
potter's  vessels  before  him  ;  for  the  hideous  dwarf  is  Peter 
the  Hermit.' 

Now  Pope  Urban  ascends  a   lofty  scaffolding   in  the 


io8  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Square,  hard  by  Notre  Dame  du  Port,  and  begins  to 
preach.  After  long  deliberation  he  believes  that  all  the 
wealth  and  power  of  Europe  may  be  drawn  with  one 
sweep  into  the  service  of  the  Church,  and  here  is  the 
place,  the  moment.  "  Up  to  the  present,"  he  cries,  "  you 
have  been  making  unjust  wars.  .  .  .  Now  we  pro- 
pose to  you  wars  that  carry  the  glorious  recompense  of 
the  martyr,  and  shall  be  forever  praised.  ...  If  you 
have  a  rich  patrimony  here,  a  l)etter  patrimony  awaits  you 
in  the  Hol}^  Land.  They  who  die  will  enter  the  mansions 
of  heaven,  while  the  living  shall  pay  their  vows  before  the 
sepulchre  of  their  Lord.  Blessed  are  they,  who — taking 
this  vow  upon  them — shall  obtain  such  a  recompense  ; 
happy  they  who  are  led  to  such  a  conflict,  that  they  may 
share  in  such  rewards." 

"  God  wills  it!  God  wills  it!  "  cry  the  multitude.  The 
pope  fastens  a  rude  cross  of  red  cloth  on  the  breast  of 
Aimar,  the  bishop  of  Le  Puy,  and  at  once  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  the  frenzied  throng  assume  the  badge,  until 
no  more  cloth  can  be  had.  Branding-irons  are  quickly 
fashioned,  and  men  and  even  women  eagerly  burn  the 
sacred  emblem  upon  their  flesh.  Christendom  is  now 
pitted  against  Islam,  West  against  East  ;  and  while  Aimar 
kneels  in  Notre  Dame  du  Port,  the  tremendous  movement 
of  the  crusades  takes  form.  ' '  In  Italy, ' '  as  Voltaire  says, 
"  they  had  wept  ;  in  France  they  flew  to  arms." 

And  what  were  the  crusades  ? 

They  developed  commerce,  extended  knowledge,  stimu- 
lated the  industries,  opened  the  way  to  discoveries,  ele- 
vated the  serfs,  undermined  feudalism  and  the  Church, — 
in  short,  they  transformed  society,  moved  its  centre  of 
gravity,  and  did  almost  everything  except  what  they 
undertook  to  do.     But  what  were  they  ? 

They  were  personal  psychology  thrown  on  a  mammoth 
screen  and  magnified  a  million  times. 


NOTRE  DAME  DU  PORT. 


loq 


The  Sjiirit  of  the  Age  i  i  i 

Why  do  the  salmon  hurry  up  the  rivers  ?  Because 
each  individual  salmon  feels  a  new  craving  that  nothing 
else  will  satisfy.  Why  did  the  chivalry  of  Europe  rush 
to  the  sandy  shores  of  Palestine  ?  Was  it  because  Urban 
preached  and  Peter  the  Hermit  wept  ?  No  ;  but  because 
a  new  spirit,  a  new  life,  had  sprung  up  in  millions  of  indi- 
viduals, and  it  found  satisfaction  in  the  idea  of  the  crusade. 

In  studying  the  times  of  Sordel,  we  saw  how  the  modern 
world  was  adumbrated  in  that  age.  But  the  beginnings 
of  the  change  were  earlier.  It  was  in  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury that  the  mind  of  Europe  began  to  awake.  The  years 
looo  and  1033,  each  anticipated  as  the  end  of  the  world, 
came  and  went,  and  mankind  passed  from  a  horrible  dread 
of  universal  death  to  an  intoxication  of  life  and  gladness. 
The  commotions  produced  by  migrating  peoples  and  clash- 
ing races  were  fast  subsiding,  too,  and  the  human  mind, 
weary  of  the  long  struggle  for  mere  survival,  reacted  from 
brutal  wars  and  the  bestiality  that  accompanied  them. 
The  result  was  a  tremendous  uplifting.  A  full  tide  of 
energy  surged  up  tumultuously  into  the  faculties  of  emo- 
tion and  of  thought.  Ev^erybody  had  a  freshet  in  his  head, 
and  felt  so  rich  in  life  and  enthusiasm  that  it  was  delight- 
ful to  spend,  to  give,  to  devote  himself  according  to  his 
personal  bent.  It  was  like  spring  in  the  forest  ;  the  sap 
flowed  fast,  and  every  tree  produced  foliage  after  its  kind. 

Naturally  the  religious  instinct  felt  the  new  life.  Joined 
to  the  fighting  spirit  of  the  times,  it  expressed  itself  in  the 
crusades  ;  which,  stimulated  by  the  Church  and  backed 
by  the  terrible  physical  energy  of  the  warrior  class,  be- 
came the  overshadowing  events  of  the  age.  But  the}- 
were  only  one  manifestation  of  the  fresh  religious  life. 
The  Franciscan  order  translated  it  into  simple  Gospel  re- 
ligion, the  Dominicans  into  ecclesiastical  religion,  and 
the  heretical  sects — the  Patarins  of  Italy,  the  Catharists 
of  Germany,  the  Bulgarians  of  northern  France,  and  the 


I  12 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Albigensians  of  the  Midi — into  an  earnest  and  sincere 
though  unenlightened  piety. 

No  less  natural  was  a  quickening  of  the  sense  of  human 
right  and  the  longing  for  civil  freedom,  and  this  resulted 
in  the  free  cities  of  the  twelfth  century,  and  itltimately  in 
the  building  up  of  nationalities,  for  the  king  was  found  a 
bulwark  against  feudal  oppressors,  and  the  people  gathered 
about  him.  The  bishop  was  a  similar  protector,  and  so 
the  civil  and  religious  impulses,  joining  forces  under  the 
leadership  of  the  building  instinct,  erected  the  great 
Gothic  churches  with  feverish  enthusiasm  and  wnth  a 
speed  never  paralleled  unless  by  the  railroad  construction 
of  our  own  country.  All  the  great  cathedrals  of  France 
were  founded  and  most  of  them  erected  while  the  trouba- 
dours were  singing  ;  their  gorgeous  decorations  were  only 
"  the  budding  shoots  of  early  spring  "  grown  large  ;  and 
their  "aerial  hymns"  of  buttress  and  pinnacle  were 
simply  an  expression  of  religious  and  political  springtime, 
scorning  the  monastic  heaviness  and  conventionality  of 
the  Romanesque  builders. '^    Paintings  and  sculptures  were 

needed  then,  first  for  the 
!m^:r^P^  adornment  of  the  grand 
new  churches,  and  second- 
ly to  teach  the  illiterate 
worshippers  what  the}'  sig- 
nified ;  and  in  this  our 
modern  art  was  involved. 

tu^uu4iU,U/iilliiiinniuiiijuiuiu)imn:inumiiiuiuuriu<ititiH;iiiii:uiiiujiiuuri:nuauHiiniimiri;initmni^       -L II      Id.CL,       LllC     SlJlI'lC     OI       ciI  L 

EARLY  GOTHIC  ORNAMENT.  ^as    more    cxphcith'    ac- 

tive  ;  and  at  the  opening 
of  the  thirteenth  century  the  world  was  ready  for  the 
great  artistic  revolution  that  soon  took  place. 

The  same  young-hearted  spirit  appeared  in  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  university  movement,  whether  the  students 
were  the  university  as  at  Bologna,  or  the  teachers  as  at 


The  Spirit  of  the  Age  1 1 


o 


Paris.  Nothing  was  too  great  or  too  small  for  the  new 
life  to  seize  upon.  Dress  became  rich  and  household  ap- 
pointments aspired  to  be  elegant.  Even  embroidery  felt 
the  influence,  and  the  conventional  flower-forms  of  the 
ladies'  fancy-work  took  on  the  shapes  of  nature. 

While  ever\-  form  of  activity  was  being  quickened  in 
this  way,  the  personal  affections  could  not  fail  to  respond. 
Sentiment  was  abroad  ;  and  this,  added  to  the  martial 
spirit,  made  chivalrj',  while — interpreted  in  the  forms  of 
intellect — it  produced  the  troubadours.  To  cultivate  song 
was  to  develop  music  ;  and,  as  we  shall  see,  the  melodies 
of  our  poets  were  the  beginning  of  the  modern  st3des.  On 
its  other  side  poetry  opened  the  path  of  secular  thought, 
which  was  destined  to  go  on,  freeing  itself  alike  from  tra- 
dition and  from  passion,  till  it  culminated  in  the  free  in- 
tellectual activity  of  the  modern  world. 

Arnaut  de  Maruelh  and  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  the  cathe- 
dral and  the  crusade,  the  free  city  and  the  university, — 
they  were  all  cousins  ;  and  so,  starting  here  at  Clermont 
with  Urban  and  Aimar,  we  may  go  quite  around  the  possi- 
bilities of  human  effort,  and  find  everyw^here  the  same 
spirit  of  new  life  in  the  heart  and  the  intellect.  All  the 
higher  faculties  of  mankind  were  in  motion,  and  our 
troubadours  pla5'ed  the  march. 

But  however  true  and  important  all  this  is,  we  must 
leave  the  philosophy  of  history  to  others,  and  come  back 
to  the  lives,  the  thoughts,  and  the  feelings  of  individuals, 
our  present  theme.  There  must  have  been  a  personal 
antithesis  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  crusades  ;  how  shall 
we  learn  of  that  ?  Why  not  from  the  troubadour  Marca- 
bru,  who  gave  us  a  little  while  ago  an  original  view  of 
pastoral  wooing,  and  was  born  expressly,  it  would  appear, 
to  see  "  the  other  side  "  of  everything  ? 

A  wonderful  and  pathetic  figure,  this  twisted  Marcabru; 
but  the  world  has  been  satisfied  to  think  of  him  as  only  a 


VOL.    II.— 8. 


1 14  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

queer,  cross,  crotchet}'  old  fellow,  as  it  does  of  nianj'  a 
man  who  is  vastl}'  superior  to  the  mass  of  us.  His  genius 
no  one  could  question.  We  called  Peire  d'Alvernhe  a 
pioneer  and  so  he  was,  but  Marcabru  passed  off  the  stage 
as  Peire  came  on  ;  and  yet  in  many  ways  he  is  the  least 
ancient  of  all  the  troubadours.  His  poem  on  the  prudent 
shepherdess  is  the  oldest  pastoral  we  possess,  but  it  seems 
like  a  reaction  after  many  generations  of  Phyllises.  Not 
only  modern  was  he  by  sheer  force  of  intellect,  but  ultra- 
modern. Nature  dowered  him  with  what  the  French  love 
to  call  "  the  American  eye,"  and  his  vision  pierced  through 
conventionalities  and  accidents  to  the  core  of  things. 
With  unmatched  originalit}'  he  struck  out  new  paths  in 
every  direction.  He  was  the  first  of  the  troubadours  to 
cross  the  Pyrenees.  On  the  north,  too,  he  passed  the 
boundaries  of  the  Midi,  and  there  is  reason  to  believe 
that  he  even  visited  England.  Whatever  he  wrote  bore 
the  stamp  of  his  individuality.  He  called  a  spade  a  spade 
or  else  found  a  shorter  name.  Provencal  was  not  swift 
and  cutting  enough  to  suit  his  tongue  ;  and  besides  load- 
ing his  verse  with  words  and  locutions  that  make  three 
quarters  of  it  an  enigma  to  us,'  he  devised  compounds  and 
forms  of  expression  that  remind  one  of  our  trenchant 
American  slang. 

With  so  much  genius  went  a  character,  if  we  trust  ap- 
pearances, that  was  terribly  unamiable,  censorious,  and 
bitter.  He  once  avowed  that  he  never  had  loved  and 
never  had  been  loved.  In  truth  love — that  is  to  say,  pre- 
tended love — was  a  special  mark  of  his  invective.  Hun- 
ger, death,  and  war  devise  less  mischief,  he  maintained, 
than  love  accomplishes  bj'  the  aid  of  deceit,  and  though 
love  bring  a  man  to  the  bier  j-et  her  eye  is  not  moist.  If 
she  does  not  bite  she  licks  with  a  tongue  rougher  than  a 
cat's.  Whoever  makes  a  bargain  with  love  leagues  him- 
.self  with  the  Devil  :    and  after  that,  as  senseless  as  one 


Marcabru  1 15 

who  flays  himself,  he  never  stops  to  reflect  that  another 
is  beating  him.  Then  Marcabru  compared  love  to  a  mare 
that  wearies  her  driver,  to  a  gnat— only  that  her  sting  is 
gentler  and  her  wounds  more  lasting,  and  finally  to  a 
spark  which  lodges  in  the  soot  and  presenth'  bursts  out 
into  flames  that  consume  the  dwelling. 

After  false  love  came  greed.  In  one  of  his  poems  Mar- 
cabru sets  before  us  the  picture  of  an  enormous  tree  whose 
branches  mingle  with  the  clouds  and  whose  roots  invade 
the  heart  of  the  earth.  To  it  are  fastened  a  countless 
nuiltitude  of  all  classes  from  kings  to  beggars  ;  for  the 
tree  is  the  eternal  evil  of  the  world,  and  avarice  and  covet- 
ousness  bind  mankind  to  it. 

The  personal  vices  of  the  times  Marcabru  whipped  with 
scorpions,  and  even  his  own  profession  was  not  spared. 
He  blamed  the  poets  for  confounding  true  love  and  false, 
and  he  reproached  husbands  for  listening  quietly  while 
"the  smooth  tongues  of  the  troubadours"  proclaimed 
their  shame  b\'  singing  of  their  wives.  The  gallantries 
of  married  men  were  visited  with  scorching  rebukes,  and 
in  the  end  the  nobles  of  Guienne  became  so  maddened  by 
his  invectives  as  to  take  his  life.* 

An  eas}^  explanation  of  this  bitterness  was  offered  by 
Peire  d'Alvernhe,  who — after  reproaching  "  the  son  of  a 
worthless  creature  "  for  marring  the  gladness  of  the  world 
— called  Marcabru  by  name,  and  then  added  that  one 
ignorant  of  his  extraction  would  think  him  crazy.  Mar- 
cabru was  in  short  a  foundling.  His  mother  was  a  Gascon 
serving-woman  called  Marcabruna,  the  Brown  Marca, 
after  whom  her  son  finallj^  named  himself,  and  she  left 
her  child  at  a  rich  man's  door.  Dowered  at  once  with 
genius  and  with  shame,  gifted  with  infinite  longings  and 
the  intelligence  to  see  their  futility,  called  through  the 
sensitive  ^-ears  of  his  boyhood  only  Pauperdnt,  the  Lost 
Rag,  fated  to  beat  his  life  out  like  a  moth  against  the 


ii6  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

lighted  window-pane  of  life,  how  could  Marcabru  fail  to 
be  harsh  and  on  occasion  scornfully  self-assertive  ?  ^ 

But  this  is  a  superficial  view, — true,  but  only  the  out- 
side of  the  truth  ;  and  a  little  tale  of  Marcabru' s  3'outh 
gives  us,  I  feel  sure,  the  keynote  of  his  character.  It 
was  a  Gascon  joglar  named  Aldric  '"  who  took  the  found- 
ling in,  a  man  so  destitute  himself  that  he  said  to  Marca- 
bru :  "  You,  a  little  child,  have  found  me  such  an  one 
that  neither  of  us  could  help  the  other  " ;  and  yet  it  ap- 
pears that  after  the  boy  had  obtained  a  start  in  life  else- 
where "  he  chose  for  love  of  Aldric  to  return. 

His  assertion  that  he  never  had  loved  a  woman  is 
plainly  mere  bravado.  There  was  a  time  when  his  verse 
and  his  music  flowed  sweetl}-  on  ;  when  "  for  love  and  for 
gladness  "  winter  and  summer  were  "  of  a  piece  "  to  him  ; 
when  he  was  proud  to  confess  :  "In  every  place  I  count 
myself  your  prisoner,  your  slave  in  all  things  "  ;  and  when 
he  could  sing  :  "  It  is  my  destiny  that  joy  and  good 
fortune  are  to  take  away  a  little  of  the  pain  deep-seated 
in  my  heart."  But  this  joy  was  only  a  dream,  and  the 
foundling  soon  awoke.  "  O  true  love,"  he  once  cried, 
"  O  true  love,  the  source  of  goodness,  that  hast  illumined 
the  world  !  "  but  upon  his  own  existence  love  would  cast 
no  radiance. 

With  a  vision  cleared  by  tears  he  looked  out  upon  life. 
There  never  has  been  a  time,  there  never  can  be  a  time, 
when  the  world  will  not  be  full  of  injustices.  Let  one 
have  a  vantage-ground  and  he  is  protected  ;  let  him  be 
strong  and  hard  as  most  of  us  are,  and  he  passes  on  to  the 
next  man  the  wrongs  he  suffers.  But  Marcabru  was  de- 
fenceless and  was  naturally  tender-hearted.  He  was  a 
man  of  reflection,  too, — a  brooding  thinker  :  "A  good 
thought  cheers  me  and  a  base  one  makes  me  sad  ;  the 
world  is  full  of  such  sweet  and  bitter  thoughts," — that  is 
his  own  account  of  it  ;    and  more  and  more  his  mind 


Setting-  Out  for  the  Crusade  i  17 

lingered  upon  the  baseness  and  the  misery  of  life,  for  as 
he  sang  once,  "  The  tongue  goes  often  to  the  aching 
tooth."  Gall  is  not  made  but  only  gathered  where  we 
find  it.  More  and  more  the  troubadour's  gentle  heart, 
conscious  of  its  tenderness,  conscious  of  its  truth  and 
purity,  came  to  be  full  of  di.smay  and  wrath.  Then  he 
turned  his  poetry  into  sermons  ;  but  he  found  his  preach- 
ing vain,  and  cried  :  "  I  go  about  sowing  protests  on  the 
natural  rocks  and  see  neither  harv^est  nor  blossom. ' '  Furi- 
ous with  indignation  he  pitched  his  voice  then  upon  the 
key  of  denunciation  ;  and  in  the  end,  by  one  of  those 
paradoxes  of  life  that  meet  us  on  every  side,  a  poet  fitted 
to  love  and  be  loved  became,  like  Jesus  cleansing  the 
temple,  a  rebuke  and  a  scourge. 

So,  as  I  said  to  begin  with,  Marcabru — who  always  could 
see  the  inside,  the  underside,  the  other  side — is  just  the 
man  to  show  us  the  opposite  phase  of  the  great  crusades.'" 

Let  us  go  with  him,  then,  to  a  castle  whose  lord  has  as- 
sumed the  cross.  The  time  appointed  for  the  general  ren- 
dezvous approaches,  and  the  baron  is  preparing  to  set  forth 
with  his  men.  The  little  army  is  gathered  in  the  court- 
yard, stretching  out  through  the  gate  and  down  the  steep 
road  beyond  the  drawbridge.  In  an  angle  of  the  courtyard 
stands  little  Samuel,  the  Jew,  who  has  furnished  ready 
money  for  the  brave  expedition  at  a  fine  rate  of  interest, 
and  is  now  furtively  casting  up  the  value  of  his  mortgage, 
marvelling  all  the  while  to  see  men  throw  away  every 
good  thing  in  life  to  fight  for  an  empty  tomb,  and  that  the 
tomb  of  a  Jew.  But  nobody  thinks  of  Samuel  now. 
Yesterday  more  than  one  of  the  party  said  like  Peirol  in 
his  inmost  heart  :  ' '  Many  a  man  must  say  farewell  and 
leave  his  true-love  in  tears,  who  might  stay  at  home  joy- 
fully were  there  no  Saladin  " ;  but  all  such  feelings  are 
now  banished.  Here  are  the  zealous  priests,  the  chanting 
monks,  the  rough  soldiers  muttering  paternosters  instead 


1 1 8  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

of  oaths,  saintly  women  in  ecstasies,  old  men  almost  curs- 
ing God  that  they  cannot  go  and  lay  their  bones  in  the 
hoi}'  ground  of  Palestine,  the  armorers  giving  a  final  blow 
here  and  there,  and  the  captain  impressing  his  last  coun- 
sels upon  wife  and  steward.  Their  holy  enthusiasm  gives 
the  glittering  knights  a  look  more  than  mortal.  One 
more  mass  is  said.  God  seems  very  present.  The  mar- 
tial vows  are  again  repeated.  The  trumpet  sounds  ;  the 
war-cry  of  the  crusade  is  rai.sed  ;  and  amid  chants,  hosan- 
nas,  farewells,  and  tears  of  jo}-  as  much  as  of  grief,  the 
knights  mount  their  impatient  steeds  and  ride  grandly 
down  the  winding  road  across  the  valley. 

But  presently  the  shining  cavalcade  is  out  of  sight,  the 
courtyard  is  empty  and  silent,  the  loved  ones  are  on  their 
way  to  fight  and  to  die  in  a  far  land,  and  the  evening 
shadows  begin  to  fall.  Then  Marcabru — not  the  cynic, 
the  preacher,  or  the  foundling,  but  the  man  and  the  poet — 
goes,  full  of  deep  thoughts,  into  the  castle  garden,  and 
finds  there — no  one  but  himself  can  fitly  tell  us  what. 

Beside  the  fountain,  in  the  shade 
Of  homelike  trees,  where — thickly  sprayed 
Mid  grasses  that  the  path  invade — 
Sweet  blossoms  cheer  the  green  with  white, 
And  birds  their  new-old  songs  parade, 
I  found — with  no  one  by — the  maid 
Who  gives  my  loving  w'ords  no  heed. 

She  was  a  lady  passing  fair, 
Whose  father  hath  a  castle  there  ; 
I  thought  the  sweet  and  springlike  air, 
The  tuneful  birds,  the  verdure  bright 
Would  bring  her  joy  in  place  of  care, 
And  make  her  listen  to  my  prayer  : 
Alas,  't  was  not  the  time  to  plead ! 

Beside  the  fountain  she  had  crept. 
And  sighing  from  the  heart  she  wept : 


Marcabru  119 


"  King  Jesus," — then  I  nearer  stepped — 
"  'T  is  3'ou  undo  nie,  since  despite 
Is  done  the  tomb  wherein  you  slept  ; 
For  your  sake  all  our  best  are  kept 
Afar, — but  you  are  pleased  indeed  ! 

"  My  loved  one  goes  like  all  the  rest, — 
The  fairest,  sweetest,  noblest,  best, 
And  naught  is  left  my  suffering  breast 
But  pain  and  longing  day  and  night  ; 
May  Lozoic  be  e'er  unblest, — 
The  preaching  king,  whose  ill  behest 

Hath  doomed  my  aching  heart  to  bleed  !  " 

And  when  I  heard  her  thus  lament, 
Anear  her  by  the  stream  I  went. 
And  said  :   "  Fair  lady,  tears  o'erspeut 
Will  mar  your  face,  its  color  blight ; 
Nor  should  you  let  your  heart  be  rent, 
For  God  can  cheer  you,  as  He  sent 
New  leaves  to  faded  copse  and  mead." 

"Ah,  sir,"  she  said,  "God  will  allot 
My  part  in  mercy,  I  doubt  not. 
In  yon  eternal  world,  and  blot 
My  sins  like  those  of  all  contrite  ; 

But  here  the  thing  that  blessed  my  lot 
He  takes  away,  and  hath  forgot 
To  help  me  in  my  time  of  need."  '^ 


XXXI 

EGLETONS 

A  Day  in  the  World  of  the  Troubadours 

WE  arrived  at  Egletons  after  nightfall,  and  in  the 
morning  found  to  our  surprise  that  a  determined 
rainy  day  was  upon  us.  Travelling  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  we  decided  to  fancy  ourselves  back  in  the  world 
of  the  troubadours  and  make  a  day's  journey  there. 

Setting  out,  then,  about  the  end  of  May  immediately 
after  breakfast,  my  comrade  and  I  found  ourselves  pursu- 
ing under  the  direction  of  our  guide  a  none  too  easy  bridle- 
path called  a  road.  On  either  side  lay  the  forest,  and  the 
tree-tops  often  interlaced  their  branches  above  our  heads. 
In  fact  the  country  seemed  almost  a  wilderness  ;  for 
although  the  population,  as  Paul  Meyer  has  estimated, 
was  about  equal  to  that  of  today,'  life  was  so  much 
simpler  that  a  very  partial  cultivation  of  the  land  sup- 
ported its  inhabitants,  and  besides,  the  laborers  dared  not 
go  far  from  a  place  of  refuge. 

After  we  had  ridden  a  little  while  Aimar,'  our  guide, 
halted  abruptly  and  pointed  to  a  group  of  boulders  a  short 
way  before  us  on  the  left. 

"  A  lurking-place  of  Sicart  and  his  band,"  he  remarked 
under  his  breath.  "  Many  a  merchant  has  found  it  wise 
to  lighten  their  dark  brows  with  shining  gold  ;  and  if  the 
gold  were  not  forthcoming — so  much  the  worse  for  him. 
lyook  to  your  arms  !  " 

120 


Brigands  1 2 1 

At  this  each  of  us  loosened  his  sword  a  little  in  the 
scabbard,  settled  himself  in  his  saddle,  and  held  his  lance 
ready  for  instant  use  ;  then  with  senses  alert  we  pushed 
warily  forward,  and  passed  the  dangerous  rocks  without 
molestation. 

"  In  mischief  somewhere  else,"  observed  Aimar,  "  or 
perhaps  drunk  and  asleep  :  it  matters  little  to  us." 

A  mile  farther  on  we  forded  a  small  river,  for  the  infre- 
quent bridges  were  confined  to  the  great  highways,  and 
soon  after  came  to  a  clearing.  Great  was  our  surprise  to 
find  in  the  midst  of  it  the  still  smoking  ruins  of  a  little 
village  with  several  charred  bodies  among  the  timbers. 

"  Sicart?"  I  queried. 

"  No,  this  is  the  work  of  a  bolder  and  stronger  band 
than  his, — the  free-lances  {routiers),  no  doubt. ^  I  heard 
only  the  other  day  that  a  large  company  of  hired  soldiers 
from  Brabant  had  served  out  their  term  with  King 
Richard  :  perhaps  these  are  the  fellows  ;  though,  God 
knows,  there  were  enough  such  troops  before." 

This  made  us  think  again  of  our  arms — useless  though 
arms  would  have  been  against  so  many ;  but  the  trampled 
ground  showed  that  whoever  the  aggressors  were,  they 
had  come  and  gone  by  a  road  that  crossed  ours  at  the 
village,  and  so  were  not  likely  to  attack  us. 

"  How  did  a  village  happen  to  exist  so  far  from  the 
protection  of  a  town  or  a  castle  ?  "  inquired  \\\y  friend. 

"  Oh,  there  are  many  such  villages,"  replied  Aimar. 
"  This  one  owed  its  existence  to  the  cross-roads.  A  little 
inn  was  erected  here  first,  I  have  heard  it  said.  Then  a 
few  peasants,  laboring  in  the  fields  hereabouts,  built  their 
cottages  near  it  ;  for  they  are  social  creatures  and  they 
feel  safer  in  company  whether  they  are  or  not.  Other 
villages  have  sprung  from  other  causes.  One  that  I  knew 
of  grew  up  around  the  hut  of  a  pious  hermit,  who  settled 
there  because  he  discovered  a  spring  of  sweet  water  at 


122  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  spot ;  for  a  hunter  lighted  upon  the  retreat  one  da3% 
and  his  report  of  the  holy  man  and  the  spring  brought 
other  people  to  the  place.  Another  has  existed  ever  since 
the  Roman  age.  Another  that  I  think  of  was  founded  by 
Lord  Gui  of  Monsel,  because  he  built  a  mill  at  the  falls 
and  wished  men  to  work  it.  Whatever  their  origin  the 
villages  live  their  own  life  between  the  meshes  of  the  lord's 
government,  paying  their  dues  and  managing  their  own 
affairs.  That  makes  them  attractive  to  many  of  the  small 
folk." 

Half  an  hour  later  our  bridle-path  emerged  upon  a  wide 
and  fairly  well  kept  highway,  one  of  the  ancient  Roman 
roads,  and  we  began  to  meet  wayfarers,  both  mounted 
and  afoot.  Before  long  it  was  evident  that  a  town  lay  a 
short  distance  before  us,  and  after  a  while  the  cit}-  gate 
was  at  hand. 

"  Mark  that  stone,"  said  Aimar,  pointing  out  a  low, 
rough  cross  near  the  side  of  the  road.  "  We  are  now 
entering  the  limits  of  the  town.  That  means  a  great 
deal,  you  must  understand.  Inside  the  boundary  are 
friends  and  brethren,  rights  and  protection  :  outside, 
strangers  and  aliens,  rivalr}-,  and  sometimes  war.  So  you 
see  it  is  needful  to  mark  the  line  clearly.  Perhaps  a 
strong  bowman  shot  four  arrows  from  the  bell-tower, — 
north,  south,  east,  and  west,  and  then  such  crosses  were 
erected  where  these  arrows  fell  ;  perhaps  the  points  were 
determined  in  some  other  way.  At  all  events,  we  are 
now  under  the  law  of  the  tow-n,  and  as  we  are  strangers 
must  beware  of  doing  man}-  things  which  we  see  the  citi- 
zens do.     But  we  are  in  luck  :  the  fair  is  on." 

Aimar  was  not  mistaken.  Turning  from  the  main 
road  we  soon  found  ourselves  in  a  large  meadow  h'ing 
between  the  town-wall  and  a  willow-lined  river  and  over- 
looked by  a  massive  pile  of  ledges  crowned  with  a  castle.'* 
Lines  of  great  elms  and  plane  trees  afforded  an  agreeable 


The  Fairs 


12 


:> 


shade  ;  among  them  a  city  of  booths  had  been  con- 
structed ;  and  here  we  saw  at  work  the  mainspring  of 
mediaeval  commerce/ 

The  fair  not  only  looked  like  a  city,  but  it  almost  was 
one.  All  classes  and  conditions  of  men  had  come  together 
here,  and  one  condition  of  women  that  could  well  have 
been  spared.     The  fair  had  its  own  court  and  its  own 


Vj-                                            '^^O^^ 

HE 

m^^ 

CASTLE  OVERLOOKING  THE  FAIR-GROUND  OF  BEAUCAIRE. 

officers  of  justice.  Cities  like  Nismes,  Avignon,  and 
Marseille  were  represented  by  their  great  importing  mer- 
chants, real  merchant-princes,  who  journeyed  twice  a 
year  to  Alexandria  and  passed  the  rest  of  their  time  lead- 
ing their  little  caravans — escorted  by  armed  guards  of 
their  own — to  distant  fairs,  each  of  them  conducted  after 
its  own  peculiar  laws  and  customs.  From  Genoa  and 
Pisa  and  even  Venice  had  come  their  enterprising  rivals. 
True  men  of  the  world  were  these,  both  Provencals  and 
Italians, — dignified  3'et  urbane,  shrewd  j-et  resolute,  able 
to  negotiate  in  many  tongues,  at  home  in  any  society,  and 
prepared  for  every  hazard. 


124  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Besides  these  great  wholesalers  there  were  of  course  the 
smaller  merchants  ready  to  cut  rolls  of  cloth  into  shorter 
bits.  More  numerous  yet  were  the  buyers.  Manj'  of 
these  were  in  business  themselves,  purchasing  at  the  great 
fairs  to  sell  at  lesser  and  more  frequent  ones,  travelling 
not  with  a  caravan  but  only  with  one  or  two  pack-mules 
from  fair  to  fair  and  from  castle  to  castle.  Still  others, 
hovering  about  ready  to  snap  up  odds  and  ends,  were 
merel}^  pedlars,  contented  to  carry  their  goods  in  a  bundle 
supported  by  a  strap  around  the  neck  and  vend  them  from 
house  to  house  in  the  towns.  But  these  were  not  the  only 
purchasers  :  many  rich  barons  mingled  with  the  throng, 
for  thej^  or  more  probably  their  ladies,  were  not  satisfied 
to  relj'  on  local  fairs  or  travelling  merchants,  and  preferred 
to  select  from  a  larger  assortment  and  lay  in  fuller  supplies 
at  wholesale  rates. 

Certainly  the  stocks  before  us  were  ample,  far  beyond 
my  space  for  the  description  of  them.  There  were  choice 
English  wools  woven  in  Flanders,  and  Spanish  wools  more 
valuable  still.  Next  them  was  a  little  cotton  cloth  from 
S3'ria.  On  the  other  side  rose  great  piles  of  linens, — the 
choicest  of  them  bearing  Egyptian  marks.  Raw  silk  had 
come  from  southern  Italy,  Sicily,  Cyprus,  the  Isles  of 
Greece,  and  the  shores  of  the  Nile.  Far  more  important 
were  the  woven  silks.  These  were  of  many  qualities,  from 
the  cheap  diasp?'e  of  Antioch  to  the  light  coidal  (taffeta), 
red  cisdatons  (brocades)  probably  from  Moorish  Spain, 
and  the  rich  satjiite, — the  diaspre  usually  white,  but  the 
dearer  silks  glowing  in  many  brilliant  colors  ;  some  plain, 
and  others  figured  with  disks,  griffins,  basilisks,  peacocks, 
eagles,  pheasants,  tigers  and  elephants,  roses,  palms, 
honses,  human  beings,  and  everything  else  that  fact  or 
fancy  could  suggest.  In  some  of  the  finest  silks  no  less 
than  six  threads  ^  were  used,  gold  and  silver  were  inter- 
woven, and  pearls  and  precious  stones  were  wrought  into 


Commerce 


125 


the  designs.  Man)-  of  the  beautiful  fabrics  had  htcrallj' 
been  brought  from  Alexandria  to  the  accompaniment  of 
music  ;  and  as  even 
these  were  not  gor- 
geous enough  to  sat- 
isfy the  luxurious 
taste  of  the  day,  they 
were  flanked  with 
piles  of  embroidered 
and  bejewelled  rib- 
bons. 

It  is  useless  to 
enumerate.  Leather 
worked  with  a  r  a- 
besques  at  Cordova 
answered  to  pin  s, 
needles,'  and  buttons 
from  Paris;  fine  gob- 
lets of  Venetian  glass 
balanced  great  dis- 
plays of  pottery," — 
much  of  it   French, 

some  from  Italy  ;    while  oriental  tapestries  met  the  steel 
of  Poitou  and  Castile. 

From  the  moment  the  proclamation  and  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet  announced  the  opening  of  the  fair  these  and  a 
hundred  other  kinds  of  merchandise  were  displayed, 
bought,  and  sold.  Probably,  as  in  Quercy  at  the  present 
day,  lying  was  so  much  a  part  of  the  business  that 
nobody  thought  it  worth  confessing  to  his  priest,  and  so 
bargaining  went  very  nimbly  on.  What  did  cause  trouble 
was  the  endless  variety  of  coins  and  the  uncertain  values 
of  coins  bearing  the  same  name'  ;  for  many  nol)les  and 
bishops  had  the  right  of  minting,  and  a  mint  was  liable 
to  adopt  a  new  standard  at  any  time.     Gold  of  whatever 


GOLD-EMBROIDERED  SILK. 


MIDDLE    OF     XII.     CENTURY. 


126  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

sort  was  not  often  seen,  and  even  silver  was  scarce  enough 
to  command  a  high  price  in  terms  of  commodities. 

Leaving  the  fair  we  returned  to  the  highway  and  passed 
through  the  gate  into  the  town.  How  the  people,  young 
and  old,  were  swarming  on  all  sides  !  What  activity, 
what  animation  !  It  suggested  a  crowded  Italian  city 
like  Albano,  only  it  was  more  hopeful  and  more  purpose- 
ful. Everybody  seemed  to  have  work  on  hand  and  to  be 
intent  upon  doing  it  ;  for  the  life  of  the  town  was  its  trade 
and  still  more  its  industries.  To  be  sure,  signs  of  wealth 
did  not  show  themselves,  and  the  aspect  of  the  place  was 
rude,  sordid,  and  even  mean  ;  but  on  the  other  hand  there 
was  an  energy  which  prophesied  a  better  time. 

Amid  the  jostling  throngs  of  the  narrow,  crooked  streets 
went  the  hawkers  and  hucksters, '°  their  sharp  cries  riding 
upon  the  Babel  of  men's,  women's,  and  children's  eager 
voices,  offering  for  sale  almost  everything  imaginable  : 
wine,  fish,  fowl,  fresh  and  salted  meat,  honey,  onions, 
butter,  "  cheese  from  Brie,"  "  soap  from  Naples,"  "  can- 
dles brighter  than  the  stars,"  "  watercresses  just  out  of 
the  spring,"  milk,  pepper,  straw,  furniture  and  utensils, 
fire-wood,  charcoal,  hazelnuts,  chestnuts,  and  a  score  of 
other  things.  The  old-clo'  men  were  out,  and  there  were 
grimy  fellows  offering  cash  for  old  iron.  The  alleys 
would  not  hold  many  more  people  ;  but  the  begging 
friars  edged  in,  and  after  them  the  begging  nuns. 

Suddenly,  while  we  were  crossing  the  public  square 
near  the  great  elm,  a  new  outcry  was  heard.  The  crowd 
managed  to  open  a  little  and  two  persons  entirely  naked 
— a  man  and  a  woman — got  past  as  rapidly  as  they  could, 
pursued  by  a  man  with  a  whip. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  we  cried. 

"  Adultery,"  answered  Aimar.  "  Yes,"  he  continued, 
"  the  towns  have  many  curious  usages.  At  Montpellier  a 
man  who  lends  money  at  interest  cannot  testify  in  court  ; 


The  Town  127 

a  debtor  compelled  by  process  of  law  to  pay  is  fined  a  third  as 
much  as  he  owed ;  no  alloys  of  gold  or  silver  are  tolerated ; 
no  '  unreasonable  '  agreement  even  in  writing  can  stand  ; 
a  woman,  unless  a  widow,  cannot  marry  without  the  con- 
sent of  her  parents  or  kin ;  shaking  hands  makes  a  bargain 
legal  ;  none  but  citizens  can  dye  woollens,  or  sell  more  of 
them  than  they  can  carry  on  their  persons  ;  in  wedding 
processions  torches  and  open  candles  cannot  be  displayed 
and  there  can  be  no  music  but  trumpets  ;  the  bridegroom 
is  allowed  neither  garments  of  silk  nor  a  shirt  worked 
with  gold,  silver,  or  pearls  ;  wedding  presents  are  rigidly 
limited,  and  the  procession  cannot  include  more  than 
twenty  persons  besides  the  two  households." 

"  At  Limoges  a  betrothal  is  celebrated  by  the  relatives 
with  a  banquet  of  bread,  cheese,  salt,  pepper,  and  ordinary 
wine  ;  and,  when  it  is  time  to  try  on  the  bridal  crown,  the 
5-oung  man  may  invite  three  or  four  friends  to  the  lady's 
home,  and  give  at  his  own  expense  another  modest  ban- 
quet. This  is  all  that  may  be  done.  The  money  to  be 
spent  for  each  part  of  the  trousseau  is  fixed  by  law,  and 
an  outfit  that  disregards  the  rigid  limits  is  publicly  burned. 
At  the  wedding  feast  pastry  is  not  allowed  nor  even  roast 
meat.  Neither  are  those  who  marr\'  controlled  more 
strictly  than  others  ;  for  example,  a  baker  who  cheats  is 
hung  at  the  end  of  a  pivoted  pole  and  dipped  a  sufficient 
number  of  times  in  a  dirty  pool." 

"  What  was  the  origin  of  the  towns,  and  how  are  they 
governed?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Many  have  come  from  the  time  of  the  Romans,  or  even 
from  that  of  the  Gauls  ;  some  have  been  founded  by  the 
barons  for  defence  or  for  commerce,  others  are  simply 
grown-up  villages,  and  some  have  gathered  around  a  mon- 
astery or  a  castle.  Often,  as  you  see  here,  there  are  two 
very  distinct  parts, — one,  dominated  by  the  temporal 
power,  around  the  castle  on  the  hill  ;  the  other,  dominated 


128  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

by  the  ecclesiastical  power,  around  the  church  below.  The 
methods  of  governing  vary  like  the  clouds — the  only  rule 
is  diversity.  In  general  the  towns  of  the  Midi  are  consu- 
lar, while  those  of  the  north,  I  am  told,  are  communes. 
In  oneway  or  another  the  citizens  choose  their  own  mag- 
istrates '-'  pretty  much  without  interference  from  the  lord, 
they  have  their  place  of  assembly,  with  its  watch-tower 
and  bell,  and  they  have  their  vSeal  and  their  treasur^^ 
When  the  watchman  sees  an  enemy  approach,  the  bell 
sounds  ;  and  ever}'  man,  whether  it  be  da}^  or  night,  must 
arm  and  go  to  his  appointed  place  on  the  wall.  All  are 
glad  to  obey  the  summons,  for  they  are  devoted  to  their 
town,  and  even  the  lord  can  seldom  get  anything  from 
them  by  fear  or  by  favor  beyond  the  payments  required 
by  the  agreement.  And  if  possible  the  artisans  are  even 
more  devoted  to  their  guilds  than  to  their  town."  '^ 

In  its  turn  the  city  was  left  behind,  and  soon  we  faced 
the  wilderness  again.  Just  before  leaving  the  highway 
for  another  bridle-path,  we  met  several  people  one  after 
another  whose  clothing  was  peculiarly  marked. 

' '  A  good  idea, ' '  observed  Aimar.  ' '  The  man  in  a  grej- 
coat  with  a  scarlet  hat  is  a  leper,  the  one  with  a  cross  sewn 
on  each  side  of  his  breast  is  a  heretic,  and  that  other  fel- 
low, wearing  the  big  circle  of  saffron  stuff  on  the  breast 
of  his  frock — he  is  a  Jew."  '^ 

We  rode  on  then  for  a  time  through  a  wide  and  seem- 
ingly extensive  forest,  but  finally  the  clearings  became  fre- 
quent and  we  saw  men  at  work  in  the  fields.  Some  of 
them,  we  learned,  were  serfs, '^  and  their  lot — about  like 
that  of  the  Roman  slaves — was  hard  though  not  cruel, 
since  even  a  kind  master  saw  that  only  stern  discipline 
could  prevent  them  from  revolting.  Other  laborers 
were  peasants, — ^free  indeed  and  only  pajang  a  tribute  of 
money,  produce,  or  labor  for  the  land  they  cultivated,  yet 
still  not  so  much  more  enviable  than  the  serf. 


The  Serf  ami  the  Peasant  i  29 

The  cabin  of  a  peasant  and  all  his  furniture  went  into 
the  tax-list  at  a  valuation  of  only  a  few  shillings.  He 
was  under  the  tj^ranny  of  numberless  exactions  ;  his 
fields  were  liable  to  be  overrun  by  the  lord's  huntsmen  at 
any  time  ;  he  was  constanth'  exposed  to  famines  and 
pestilences  ;  he  could  obtain  justice  in  his  lord's  court, 
but  had  to  pay  for  it  :  here,  a  fixed  price  according  to  the 
nature  of  his  case  ;  there,  a  variable  price  according  to  the 
nature  of  his  lord  ;  and  while  his  lord  intended  to  protect 
him  in  times  of  war,  the  enemy  were  pretty  sure  to  ravage 
his  field  and  kill  or  mutilate  himself  and  his  familj^  if  the}- 
had  a  chance,  for  he  was  always  the  hindmost  for  the 
Devil  to  take. 

The  fields  and  laborers  belonged,  we  supposed,  to  some 
castle  ;  but  they  were  in  realit}'  under  ecclesiastical  rule, 
and  the  monastery  that  occupied  the  place  of  lord  was  not 
long  in  presenting  itself.  Water  and  forest  were  the  two 
essentials  for  such  an  establishment,  according  to  Orderic 
Vital,  and  this  one  seemed  amply  provided  with  both.  It 
gladdened  our  hearts  to  see  the  towers  and  crosses  rising 
above  the  trees  in  the  distance,  and  still  more  to  come  in 
view  of  the  good  walls,  very  much  as  the  sight  of  land 
cheers  the  traveller  by  sea. 

In  fact,  a  monastery  was  truly  a  port.  Within  its  gate 
every  one  could  claim  hospitality  for  a  day,  and  there  he 
found  himself  under  a  broader  shield  than  any  secular 
power  extended.  Almost  as  the  authority  of  the  United 
States  covers  all  our  separate  commonwealths,  there  was 
a  great  ecclesiastical  empire  over  all  the  kingdoms  and 
all  the  fiefs.  Countless  tongues  were  spoken  in  Europe  ; 
but  in  this  kingdom  there  was  only  one  language,  the 
L,atin.  There  were  constant  changes  and  ceaseless  com- 
motions everywhere  else  ;  but  here,  despite  bad  morals, 
order  and  stability  reigned.  There  were  numberless 
potentates  elsewhere  ;    but  the  Church  recognized   only 

VOL.   II.  —  Q. 


T30 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


one  sovereign,  the  pope.  Other  governments  were  ruled 
by  violence  and  passion,  but  this  was  governed  for  the 
most  part  with  intelligence,  and  often  with  profound 
statesmanship.  Everywhere  else  birth  gave  rank  ;  but 
the  Church  was  to  a  large  extent  democratic.  Very 
naturally,  then,  it  seemed  possible,  and  to  a  great  many 

people  seemed  best,  that  the  pope 
should  be  supreme  over  all  other 
authorities. 

As  it  happened,  the  abbey  did 
not  belong  to  the  order  of  Cit- 
eaux  ;  and  so,  while  the  buildings 
were  not  so  man}'  as  those  we 
saw  traces  of  at  Le  Thoronet 
nor  their  uses  so  varied,  artistic 
adornment  was  far  more  lavish. 
The  columns  of  the  cloister  were 
beautifully  chiselled,  and  the  in- 
ner wall  had  a  series  of  paintings 
representing  the  miracles  of  our 
lyord.  The  dining-room  for 
guests  '^  was  richer  still,  for  in- 
stead of  paintings  there  were 
tapestries  portraying  the  twenty- 
four  Elders  of  the  Apocalypse  on 
the  sides  of  the  room,  and  hunt- 
ing scenes  on  the  ends  ";  while, 
cut  in  the  stone  above  a  hooded 
fireplace  large  enough  for  the  roasting  of  two  oxen,  we 
saw  Dives  in  torment  gazing  up  at  the  felicit}-  of  Lazarus. 
What  a  contrast  was  the  refector}-  of  the  monks,  for 
luxury  had  not  5'et  invaded  it,  and  while  at  the  dinner- 
hour  the  guest-room  held  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men 
from  princes  to  beggars,  crowded  together  in  a  confusion 
of  wealth   and   povert}-,   eating   and  drinking,    talking, 


A   TAPESTRY    FIGURE. 

EARLY    IN    XIII.     CENTURY. 


The  Castle  131 

singing',  telling  stories,  and  watching  joglars  do  their 
sleight-of-hand, — a  trne  sheet  of  the  apostle  Peter,  knit  at 
the  four  corners  and  holding  all  manner  of  creatures,  the 
refectory  was  occupied  I)}'  the  solenni  ])rethren  eating 
their  pulse  and  sipping  their  water  in  the  silence  of  death, 
while  a  novice  droned  off  a  homily  from  an  elevated  read- 
ing desk  built  into  the  wall,  such  as  one  still  sees  at  the 
abbey  of  Mont  St.  Michel. 

Workers,  thinkers,  and  fighters  were  the  trinity  of 
mediaeval  civilization  ;  and  after  organized  labor  repre- 
sented l)y  the  town,  and  organized  intellect  and  learning 
represented  b}-  the  monastery,  we  began  to  look  for  what 
lay  still  nearer  to  our  personal  interest,  the  castle,  stand- 
ing for  the  third  great  force, — organized  military  power 
and  wealth,  the  power  to  which  the  troubadours  were 
closel\-  attached  while  they  despised  the  town  and  often 
opposed  the  Church. 

We  had  not  long  to  wait  ;  and  if  the  aspect  of  the  mon- 
astery pleased  us,  we  found  ourselves  delighted  still  more 
as  we  gazed  at  the  fortified  gateway,  the  battlemented 
walls,  and  the  high  towers  of  the  castle,  all  dominated  by 
the  mighty  donjon  with  its  watch-turret  aloft,  and  upon 
that  a  crimson  banner  tossing  in  the  wind.  Evidentl}-  it 
was  a  castle  of  the  middle  class,  more  than  a  fortified 
manor  house  but  less  than  a  princely  or  ducal  fortress  ; 
and  we  soon  found  that  its  owner  was  neither  ferocious 
nor  sodden,  but  a  worthy  representative  of  the  new 
culture. 

The  lowered  drawbridge  and  open  doors  were  a  sign  of 
that  unquestioning  hospitality  which  many  lords  were 
proud  to  offer  ;  but  instead  of  going  in,  as  we  saw  others 
do,  we  preferred  to  let  Aimar  touch  with  the  butt  of  his 
lance  a  sort  of  brazen  gong  that  hung  on  the  wall  beside 
the  gateway.  Almost  instantly  the  porter  appeared,  and 
bowing  very  low  prayed  us  to  enter.     "  You  arrive,  sirs," 


132  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

he  added,  "  at  both  a  hicky  and  an  iinhicky  season.  This 
morning  Sir  Ugo,  the  eldest  son  of  I,ord  Enric,  has  be- 
come a  knight.  You  are  happily  in  time  for  the  banquet, 
but  the  castle  is  too  full  to  permit  such  entertainment  as 
we  would  fain  show  you. ' ' 

"  His  lordship's  hospitality  will  be  ample,  if  this  greet- 
ing be  a  foretaste  of  it,"  replied  my  companion  ;  "  may 
we  crave  so  much  of  it  now  as  an  account  of  the  ceremony 
that  we  have  missed  ? ' ' 

"  A  few  words  will  explain  that  matter,  but  it  would 
only  be  a  pleasure  to  serve  you  with  many  were  they 
needed,"  replied  the  porter  with  another  bow.  Then  he 
went  on  and  said  :  "  At  dusk  last  evening  the  great  hall 
was  cleared  of  guests,  joglars,  and  relatives  ;  kettles  of 
water  were  carried  there,  and  after  taking  a  bath  Sir  Ugo 
dressed  himself  in  fresh  and  elegant  clothes,  all  furs  and 
silks.  Then  he  went  alone — gay,  but  solemn,  too,  as  was 
fitting — to  the  church  yonder,  and  for  ten  hours — -quite 
alone  and  all  the  time  either  standing  or  kneeling — he 
watched  the  sword  which  his  young  brother  had  placed 
upon  the  altar.  Returning  this  morning  to  the  castle  he 
breakfasted  and  then  hurried  to  his  chamber,  where  my 
lady  had  spread  out  his  costume  on  the  bed  as  if  it  had 
been  a  bride's,  everything  rich  and  whiter  than  snow. 

Directly  he  was  dressed  he  appeared  on  that  platform 
of  stone  at  the  right  of  the  castle  gate,  and  stopped  be- 
tween the  two  laurel  trees.  Two  trumpets  were  sounded, 
the  joglars  began  to  play,  and  amid  the  music  he  came 
down  the  steps  and  stationed  himself  on  the  carpet  that 
you  see  still  on  the  ground.  The  music  ceased  then,  and 
Sir  Ugo's  godfather  put  on  his  armor  till  he  came  to  the 
sword.  lyord  Enric  presented  that,  while  a  kettleful  of 
spices  was  burning  to  the  windward,  telling  of  the  great 
service  it  had  done  in  Palestine,  for  it  once  belonged  to  his 
valorous  brother,  the  crusader.     Then  Ugo  bowed  his  head 


The  lintrance  into  Knighthood  133 

and  his  father  gave  him  a  staggering  buffet  on  the  neck, 
saying:  '  Remember  of  what  stock  you  are.  Be  brave  and 
true  ;  love  God  and  protect  the  weak  ;  give  to  the  poor  ; 
and  may  God  defend  you  against  all  your  enemies.'  vSir 
Ugo  bore  him  up  right  stiffly  against  the  buffet  and  an- 
swered calmly,  '  May  God  hear  you,  sir.  May  I  ever 
serve  Him  and  obtain  His  love.' 

"  B)^  this  time  the  horse  had  been  brought — a  vSpanish 
charger,  and  a  noble  one,  he  is,  a  present  from  the  duke, 
Lord  Enric's  master  and  mine — and  Sir  Ugo,  stepping 
back  a  little,  ran  and  leaped  into  the  saddle  at  a  bound. 
His  lance  and  shield  were  handed  him;  and  then,  followed 
by  all  the  company  and  the  joglars  playing  for  dear  life, 
he  went  down  into  the  meadow  and  proved  before  them 
all  how  well  he  can  manage  a  horse.  Then  he  charged  at 
a  post  covered  with  a  shield  and  a  coat  of  mail,  and  not 
only  pierced  the  very  centre  of  the  shield  with  his  lance, 
but  even  tore  the  post  bodily  from  the  ground, — not  every 
one  can  do  that,  sir.  Just  now  he  is  tilting  against  our 
neighbor,  Sir  Guilhem  de  Rocafolh  ;  and  after  all  this  you 
will  find  him  as  light  and  fresh  in  the  dance  this  afternoon 
as  if  he  came  straight  from  his  bed."  '^ 

At  this  moment  a  horn  sounded  the  call  for  dinner,  and 
we  proceeded  to  the  great  hall, — the  first  floor  of  the  don- 
jon, where  the  baron  and  his  family  resided  ;  and  there 
we  received  a  most  gracious  and  courth^  welcome  from 
both  lord  and  lady.  In  a  little  time  a  numerous  companj^ 
were  gathered  about  us. 

The  hall  was  a  large  square  room — for  that  was  the 
shape  of  the  donjon  '" — divided  by  a  row  of  columns  and 
ceiled  with  massive  beams  and  heav}^  planking  well  tinted 
with  smoke  from  the  hearth.  On  one  side,  between  the 
two  curtained  windows,  stood  the  huge  fireplace  beneath 
a  conical  hood  painted  with  yellow  and  reddi.sh-brown 
figures,  and  at  the  right  of  this  a  settle  of  oak  extended 


134 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


out  into  the  room, — the  coziest  spot  in  the  castle.  At  one 
end  near  the  window  stood  an  oaken  table,  with  an  im- 
pressive armchair  at  the  head  for  Lord  Enric,  and  along 
one  side  a  heavy  bench  provided  with  a  back,  with  arms 
dividing  it  into  single  places,  and  with  thick  cushions 
covered  with  dark  green  cendal.  At  the  other  end,  orna- 
mented with  bright  red  knobs,  towered  a  vast  cupboard 

for  clothing,  arms,  can- 
dles, the  baron's  money- 
box with  its  heavy  and 
complicated  locks,  chess- 
boards, musical  instru- 
ments, and  man}'  things 
besides.  The  lord  and 
ladv  slept  usualh'  in  the 
hall,  and  their  bed  oppo- 
site the  fireplace — l)lessed 
solemnly  by  the  priest  on 
their  wedding  day — was  a 
massive  and  much  gilded 
affair,  fully  eight  feet  wide, 
inclined  instead  of  level, 
and  furnished  with  great 
pillows  in  embroidered  cis- 
clatoU' — worth  fiftA-  marks 
apiece — to  keep  the  sleep- 
ers in  a  half-reclining  pos- 
ture. Curtains  and  a  canopy  enclosed  it  ;  on  the  floor  in 
front  of  it  were  the  skins  of  two  foxes  killed  by  Lord  Enric, 
and  close  by  stood  a  candelabrum,  always  kept  burning 
through  the  night. 

The  floor  of  square  tiles  decorated  with  simple  designs 
in  black  and  brown  was  well  covered,  not  with  rugs  and 
vSkins  as  in  winter,  l)ut  with  peppermint  leaves,  green 
twigs,  roses,  gladioli,  and  lilies  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 


A    FIREPLACE. 

XM.     CENTURY. 


The  Castle  Hall  135 

Here  and  there  on  the  columns  hung  trophies  of  the  chase 
or  the  battle,  and  over  the  fireplace  an  immense  German 
olifant  presented  by  the  duke  ;  but  the  glory  of  the  room 
— a  glory  that  came  and  went  with  special  days — was  the 
hangings  of  silken  embroidery  worked  on  linen,  some 
from  Sicily,  some  from  Poitiers,  some  from  the  Levant, — 
one  depicting  a  tournament,  one  a  hunt  in  full  chase,  an- 
other fields  with  trees  and  fat  cattle  and  a  river  winding 
through,  and  the  rest  of  them  various  tales  from  the  ro- 
mances. The  scenes  puzzled  us  a  trifle  at  first,  for  while 
some  of  the  figures  were  drawn  with  no  little  skill,  the 
artist  had  no  sense  of  perspective  and  slight  regard  for  the 
real  forms  of  things, — for  example,  a  stick  with  five  leaves 
meant  a  tree  ;  but  when  we  became  accustomed  to  these 
peculiarities  we  found  the  hangings  not  only  rich  but  de- 
lightful. Still,  I  was  curious  about  the  wall  itself;  and 
stealthily  pushing  one  of  the  tapestries  aside  I  found  it 
well  plastered,  and  painted  with  conventional  flower  pat- 
terns in  yellow  ochre,  red,  a  little  white,  a  little  black, 
some  deep  blue,  and  scanty  touches  of  gold. 

Had  the  day  been  hot  the  dinner  might  have  been 
served  in  the  garden  ;  but  as  it  was,  more  comfort  could 
be  had  in  the  hall.  About  a  dozen  tables  were  brought 
in  and  set  up  on  movable  legs  as  we  saw  done  at  Burlatz. 
Each  had  a  raised  edge,  a  silken  flounce  reaching  nearly 
to  the  floor,  and  two  table-cloths, — the  finer  one  over  the 
coarser  ;  and  while  one  .side  was  left  free  for  the  servants, 
the  other  was  occupied  bj-  a  cushioned  bench  without  back 
or  arms.  The  display  of  dishes  was  really  dazzling, — 
many  plates  of  silver  and  a  few  of  gold,  ewers  of  brass, 
gilded  tankards  with  covers  and  without,  salt-cellars, 
sauce-tureens,  knives  of  Poitou  steel  with  gilded  handles, 
spoons  of  .silver  and  of  gold — carefully  counted  before  and 
after  the  meal,  as  Aimar  whispered — but  no  forks,  for  the 
meat  was  cut  into  bits,  and  hands  were  so  scrupulously 


136 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


A    PIECE   OF    ENAMEL. 

XIM.    CENTURY. 


washed  before  and  after  the  meal  that  no  harm  was  done 
when  the}-  dipped  into  the  pasties.'" 

At  each  place  were  its  cup  of  silver  or  gold — many  of 
the  cups  had  a  name  and  a  histor)- — and  a  small  loaf  made 

of  sifted  white  flour, 
for  at  a  banquet  like 
this  barley,  millet,  or 
r3^e  would  have  been 
out  of  keeping  ;  and 
between  each  two 
places  there  stood  a 
deep  plate  or  bowl — 
some  of  the  bowls 
were  elegantly  enam- 
elled— to  be  used  in 
common  by  the  two 
neighbors.  No  nap- 
kins were  provided, 
but  when  I  called  Aimar's  attention  to  this  he  told  me 
that  I  could  use  the  edge  of  the  table-cloth  in  a  case  of 
urgenc}'. 

The  seneschal,  a  fat,  bu.stling  fellow,  ver}'  quick  to 
smile  or  frown,  was  just  now  the  greatest  man  in  the 
castle,  for  he  it  was  that  seated  the  company,  and  no  little 
tact  and  knowledge  were  needed  to  arrange  so  many  in 
the  order  of  their  degree.  After  considerable  delay,  how- 
ever, and  some  bristling  among  the  guests,  the  feat  was 
accomplished.  At  the  head  of  the  first  table  sat  Lord 
Enric  of  course,  clad  in  a  purple  bliaut  dotted  with  golden 
stars.  Next  him  was  placed  the  highest  ecclesiastic, — the 
abbot  of  the  monastery  we  had  passed,  and  then  the 
highest  lord, — the  viscount  of  the  town.  My  comrade 
was  conducted  to  this  table,  while  I  was  given  a  seat  at 
one  a  little  way  off,  and  Aimar  went  contentedh-  to  the 
foot  of  the  hall.     Members  of  the  lord's  family  were  scat- 


A  Banquet  137 

tered  among  the  guests  to  do  the  honors,  and  here  and 
there  a  lady,  paired  with  a  knight,  was  to  dip  her  hand  in 
the  same  bowl  ;  but  no  children  under  seven  were  ad- 
mitted. 

When  Lord  Knric  seated  himself,  all  the  rest  could  sit  ; 
and  they  were  not  slow  either  to  sit  or  to  eat.  Over  the 
lord's  table  was  this  in  Latin  :  "  When  at  table  think  first 
of  the  poor  ;  for  when  you  feed  him  you  feed  God  "  ;  ])ut 
such  a  text  has  always  been  appreciated  best  on  a  full 
stomach.  Happily  the  meats  already  waiting  had  not 
cooled,  for  they  had  been  carefully  covered  ;  and  it  only 
remained  to  fall  to. 

Usually  the  lord's  dinner  was  quite  simple,  though  the 
Provencals,  while  more  prudent  and  economical,  were  also 
fonder  of  good  eating  than  the  French  of  the  north  :  he 
would  be  served  wath  a  plate  or  two  of  meat,  a  fish,  per- 
haps a  dish  of  vegetables,  and  then  most  likely  something 
spicy  for  de.ssert  ;  but  a  banquet  was  another  thing,  for 
comfort,  not  sumptuousness  and  magnificence,  was  the 
lack  of  the.se  bygone  centuries  and  especially  of  our  period, 
— the  climax  of  the  Middle  Ages,  as  Quicherat  has  called 
it. 

Instead  of  isoup  and  fish,  venison  came  first, — a  stag 
roasted  whole  and  served  in  vast  pieces  with  hot  pepper- 
sauce,  followed  wath  wild  boar  and  a  sauce  of  pepper  and 
cloves.  The  next  four  courses  were  peacocks,  swans, 
chickens  fried  in  lard,  and  roast  capons  with  clove  sauce, 
all  brought  and  removed  expeditiously  by  servants  and 
handsomel}'  dressed  esquires  under  the  direction  of  the 
seneschal."  Wild  birds  of  various  kinds  came  on  then, 
followed  with  pies  of  deer,  pigeon,  and  pheasant.  From 
several  of  the  pheasant  pies,  live  birds  escaped;  and  when 
the  company  wearied  of  their  fluttering  about  the  room, 
hawks  were  loosed  and  the  pleasure  of  sport  was  enjoyed 
for  a  few  minutes. 


138  The  Troubadours  at  liome 

Fish  came  next.  Had  we  been  at  Bordeaux  we  might 
have  tasted  some  of  its  perch,  famous  from  the  time  of 
Ausonius,  or  in  the  region  of  the  Loire  might  have  en- 
joyed the  most  highly  prized  sahnon  of  France  ;  but  as  it 
was,  though  some  of  the  fish  had  been  brought  at  great 
expense  from  the  sea,  eel-pie  was  the  only  dish  of  this 
course  regarded  with  much  favor. 

Cakes  of  many  kinds,  tarts,  dates,  figs,  pomegranates, 
and  other  fruits  appeared  at  this  point,  but  they  aroused 
little  enthusiasm  ;  and  then  came  the  true  delight  of  the 
banquet,  the  spices, — ginger,  cloves,  nutmegs,  and  even 
pepper  ;  for  were  they  not  pleasant  themselves,  and  did 
they  not  create  a  rapturous  thirst  ?  By  this  time  indeed 
thirst  required  some  urging,  for  the  tankards  had  been 
replenished  with  each  new  course,  and  the  wines,  espe- 
cially those  mixed  with  perfumes,  spices,  and  still  more 
with  honey  and  with  pepper,  had  flowed  abundantly.'* 
Hands  were  then  washed  again,  little  mirrors  were  passed 
for  the  use  of  the  ladies,  the  tables  were  cleared  of  every- 
thing except  wine,  the  joglars — who  had  been  sawing  awaj'' 
unnoticed— began  to  have  some  attention,  the  noise  of 
tongues,  which  had  grown  rather  boisterous  toward  the 
close  of  the  feast — especially  at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall 
• — was  attuned  more  gently,  and  loud  laughter  was  hushed 
again  as  the  maxims  of  good  breeding  dictated. 

At  my  friend's  table,  so  he  told  me,  the  conversation 
had  a  distinctly  aristocratic  flavor. 

' '  Yes, ' '  obser\^ed  one,  ' '  the  peasants  do  suffer;  but  the}' 
are  only  fit  for  toil,  and  it  is  best  they  know  their  place. ' ' 

At  this  the  viscount  spoke  up  rather  sharply.  "  I  wish 
the  rabble  in  my  town  could  be  made  to  know  their  place. 
Years  ago  there  appeared — nobody  knew  from  where — a 
very  mean-looking  child,  and  all  agreed  to  call  him  Little 
Scabby.  As  he  grew  bigger  he  earned  money  by  carrying 
meat  about  the  town,  and  came  to  be  known  as  Martin 


Table-Talk  139 

Scabby.  Whatever  he  gained  he  put  out  at  interest,  and 
gradually  he  rose  to  be  Master  Martin.  As  he  grew  rich 
he  was  called  Sir  Martin  ;  and  at  present — fat,  opulent, 
and  proud — he  is  greeted  as  Lord  Martin.  I  have  had  to 
receive  man}'  whom  I  would  rather  have  kept  outside  my 
gates,  and  in  the  end  I  suppose  the  townsmen  will  force 
Itim  upon  me." 

"It  is  too  bad,"  answered  another  noble.  "  Nobody 
can  foresee  how  adventurers  will  get  on.  I  heard  the 
other  day  of  a  case  at  Paris.  A  fellow  at  King  Philippe's 
court  said  to  the  king  :  '  Lord,  I  have  served  30U  many 
years  and  have  asked  for  no  reward,  but  now  I  would  like 
a  favor  that  will  cost  you  nothing.'  '  What  is  it  ? '  said 
his  master.  '  Only  this, '  was  the  answer,  '  to  be  allowed 
to  whisper  one  paternoster  in  your  ear  ever}-  day  in  the 
presence  of  the  full  court.'  The  king  wondered  but  con- 
sented ;  and,  as  the  fellow  anticipated,  ever}'  one  took  it 
that  he  was  deep  in  the  king's  confidence,  and  began  to 
load  him  with  presents  and  attentions." 

At  my  own  table  the  conversation  was  in  a  lighter  vein, 
chiefly  about  hunting,  tournaments,  and  love  affairs  ;  but 
there  were  some  contests  of  wit,  and  I  observed  the  truth 
of  what  Daude  de  Pradas  once  remarked  :  "  An  ill  thing 
said  adroitly  gets  the  better  of  a  good  thing  said  clumsily." 
I  was  especially  interested  by  a  young  lady  sitting  near 
me,  who  seemed  to  anticipate  the  rules  of  Amanieu  de 
Sescas."''  Evidently  she  had  used  the  mirror,  as  he  en- 
joined, to  see  that  every  cord  and  ribbon  was  in  place  ; 
no  garment  showed  the  least  rip;  her  wine  was  plentifully 
mixed  with  water  ;  when  a  servant  was  not  at  hand  she 
waited  a  little  for  the  knight  at  her  side  to  help  her  ;  she 
avoided  calling  the  attention  of  those  about  her  to  this 
and  that  delicacy  ;  plainly  she  understood  that  "  a  .shrill, 
clamorous  young  lady  is  not  agreeable,"  and  especially, 
as  her  guarded  manner  indicated,  she  thought  like  Sescas, 


140  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

"  All  is  not  gold  that  shines."  As  the  rules  of  good 
breeding  enjoined,  she  was  very  careful  never  to  take 
large  morsels  or  to  drink  before  her  mouth  was  clear  "  ; 
like  all  the  more  elegant  of  the  banqueters  she  took  food 
only  with  her  thumb  and  two  fingers  ;  and  I  noticed  that 
she  followed  Hugues  de  St.  Victor  "  in  saying  little  until 
the  dessert  came  on. 

At  Aimar's  table  there  were  several  young  esquires  who 
keenly  envied  Sir  Ugo,  the  new-made  knight,  and  were 
so  impatient  for  a  similar  entrance  into  real  life  as  hardly 
to  care  for  the  banquet.  To  relieve  the  gloom,  one  of  the 
youngest  broke  in  :  "  Peire  Vidal  says  in  one  of  his  songs, 
'  Doubled  a  thousand  times  as  much  as  the  reckoning  of 
the  chess-board  '  ;  what  does  that  mean  ? ' '  No  one  re- 
plied. "  Why  this  :  a  priest  in  India  taught  a  king  to 
play  chess,  and  for  reward  he  asked  one  grain  of  wheat  for 
the  first  square  on  the  board,  two  grains  for  the  second 
square,  four  for  the  third,  and  so  on." 

"  That  did  n'tsignify  much,"  growled  one  of  the  others. 

"  You  think  so  !  "  cried  the  first  ;  "  Father  Joan  told 
me  that  it  amounted  to  16,384  cities,  with  1024  granaries 
in  each,  and  in  every  granary  174,762  measures,  each 
containing  32,768  grains  of  wheat.  What  think  you 
now?" 

Finally,  while  the  joglars  played  the  airs,  all  joined  in 
a  few  familiar  songs  ;  then  grace  was  said  ;  the  guests 
rose  ;  the  viscount,  the  abbot,  and  some  others — after 
thanking  Lord  Enric  for  his  hospitality — took  leave  singly 
of  all  the  ladies  whom  they  knew,  and  rode  home  ;  and  the 
rest  of  the  part}^  withdrew  to  their  rooms  to  sleep  a  little 
"  first  on  the  right  side  and  then  on  the  left,"  for,  as  Bar- 
tholomew of  Glanvilla  taught,  "  when  the  fume  of  the 
food  has  entered  the  brain  we  sleep  easily." 

But  after  no  long  time  the  company  was  again  assem- 
bled in  the  hall — now  cleared  of  the  tables  and  benches — 


Social  Pleasures 


141 


BACKGAMMON. 

EARLY    IN    XIII.    CENTURY. 


fresh  and  ready  for  amusement.  Dancing  began,  now  to 
the  playing  of  the  joglars,  now  to  the  singing  of  the 
dancers  themselves.  In  one  corner  chess,  and  in  another 
"  tables  " — a  sort  of  back- 
gannnon  "" — were  played, 
while  in  a  third  dice  were 
thrown,  most  of  the  play- 
ers, whether  men  or  wo- 
men, sitting  on  rugs  or 
cushions  placed  upon  the 
floor.  Then  one  of  the 
guests.  Sir  Jaufre,  well 
known  for  his  exploits  in 
Palestine,  was  prevailed 
upon  to  tell  of  some  of  his 
experiences  there  ;  and  after  that  several  of  the  company 
repeated  stories. 

One  related  how,  when  Homer  was  forbidden  to  enter 
the  king's  palace  in  his  mean  apparel  but  found  himself 
welcomed  in  a  richer  costume,  he  gave  thanks  for  his  re- 
ception not  to  the  king  but  to  his  clothes.  Another  told 
of  a  king  of  Castile  who  was  prayed  by  his  soldiers  to  re- 
turn home  because  a  flock  of  crows  met  them,  and  replied 
that  none  of  the  crows  were  over  four  years  old,  while  he 
had  fought  the  Saracens  for  more  than  twenty  years,  and 
so  knew  more  about  it  than  they  could.  Another  had  a 
story  of  a  fortune-teller,  who  made  her  son  steal  the  cattle 
of  a  rich  peasant  and  then  recommend  the  peasant  to  his 
mother  :  the  fortune-teller  gained  a  deal  of  money  and 
credit  by  recovering  the  cattle.  The  fourth  tale  was  more 
laughable  :  once,  when  a  solenni  procession  was  passing  a 
house,  a  pet  monkey  leaped  upon  the  shoulders  of  an  old 
lady,  tore  off  her  wig,  and  bore  it  in  triumph  to  the  eaves 
of  the  house.  The  fifth  w^as  the  very  stor}-  that  instructs 
our  school-children  today  :  the  old  man,  the  bo}^  and  the 


142  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

ass,  the  question  which  should  carry  the  others,  and  the 
moral  that  one  cannot  please  everybody. 

I  kept  my  eye  meantime  on  the  young  lady  who  had 
attracted  my  attention  at  dinner,  and  saw  that  she  still 
followed  the  maxims  approved  by  Sescas.  Once  a  young 
knight  pressed  her  very  closely  with  protestations  of  love, 
yet  she  displayed  no  sullenness  or  irritation. 

"  Oh,  Sir  Raimon,"  she  said  to  him  as  soon  as  he  gave 
her  an  opportunity,  "I  've  been  wishing  to  have  your 
opinion.  Tell  me  now  frankly  :  which  ladies  are  the 
more  beautiful,  those  of  Gascony  or  those  of  England  ?  " 

"Those  of  Gascony,  beyond  a  doubt,"  answered  her 
persecutor. 

She  gave  him  no  time  to  resume  his  former  topic. 
"  Pray  pardon  me,  sir  ;  but  I  think  the  Knglish  ladies  the 
fairest  in  the  world.  Lady  Agnes  and  Sir  Gui,  come  to 
my  aid,  if  you  please.  We  are  discussing  here  whether  the 
ladies  of  England  or  those  of  Gascony  are  the  more 
beautiful,  and  I  stand  for  the  English.  Am  I  not 
right?" 

I  smiled,  for  I  knew  that  had  the  knight  chosen  the 
other  side  he  would  have  found  the  lady  preferred  the 
Gascons  ;  and  presently,  as  I  anticipated,  she  slipped 
quietly  out  of  the  debate,  and  made  her  way  to  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  hall. 

At  another  time,  standing  near  one  of  the  deep  recesses 
made  necessary  by  the  thickness  of  the  wall  wherever 
there  was  a  window,  I  observed  Sir  Jaufre  and  Lady 
Brunessen,  a  wealthy  chatelaine  of  the  neighborhood, 
seated  on  one  of  the  ledges  or  projecting  seats  of  stone 
usually  built  on  the  sides  of  these  recesses.  They  were 
evidently  in  earnest  conversation,  but  their  manner  was 
at  first  exceedingly  gay  and  light. 

"  Sir,  your  coming  has  given  us  all  great  pleasure  and 
happiness.     May  the  land  prosper  from  which  you  came. 


Love-Making  143 

and  the  king  that  sent  j-ou  ;  and  most  of  all  j^our  lady- 
friend  so  far  away  !  ' ' 

' '  Yes,  when  I  have  such  a  friend ;  for  I  tell  you  truly  I 
have  none  as  yet. ' ' 

"  It  cannot  be  that  you,  with  a  courage  and  a  mind  like 
3^ours,  have  no  good  lady-friend. ' ' 

"  She  has  me  but  I  have  not  her, — not  in  the  least." 

' '  Does  she  know  that  you  are  hers  ?  ' ' 

"  Lady,  by  heaven  I  know  not  ;  not  unless  her  own  wit 
has  discovered  it  ;  I  have  told  her  nothing." 

"  Then  you  can  find  no  fault  with  her.  If  you  will  not 
show  your  hurt,  whose  fault  wall  it  be  if  you  die  of  it  ? 
Not  hers,  but  yours.  Whoever  needs  a  fire,  goes  to  find 
it." 

' '  True,  lady  ;  but  she  is  so  exalted  that  I  dare  not  ask 
her  love.  For  her  love  would  be  an  honor  to  any  em- 
peror, so  great  are  her  beauty,  her  rank,  and  her  estates." 

"  By  your  leave,  sir,  that  is  but  folly,  for  king  and 
emperor  stand  no  better  in  love  than  other  courtly  men. 
Good  qualities  count  more  in  that  matter  than  rank  or 
estates  ;  and  your  worth  is  such  that  no  lady,  whoever 
she  be,  could  refuse  you  her  love." 

"  Your  pardon,  lady  ;  it  is  your  kindness  that  makes 
you  speak  of  me  so.  But  if  you  will  be  pleased  to  aid  me 
with  her  that  rules  me  completely  and  can  make  me  live 
or  die,  you  will  be  my  salvation." 

"  Sir,  nothing  that  I  can  do  shall  remain  undone." 

At  this  the  knight  began  to  sigh,  and  both  voices  be- 
came so  low  that  I  could  make  out  nothing  ;  but  after  a 
little  I  caught  these  fragments  :  ' '  You  are  death  and  you 
are  life  to  me.  .  .  .  You  are  my  joy  and  my  anguish. 
.  .  .  You  are  she  for  whom  I  burn.  .  .  .  You  are 
the  one  that  holds  the  key  of  all  my  good,  of  all  my 
ill.     .     .     ." 

By  this  time  it  was  getting  on  toward  evening,  and  we 


144 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


all  went  out  for  a  stroll,  while  the  younger  folks  played 
tennis,"  Returning  when  the  watchman's  horn  an- 
nounced the  close  of  day,  we  found  the  tables  again  set 
up  in  the  hall,  candles  and  lamps  placed  upon  them  and 
also  on  iron  brackets  fixed  in  the  sides  of  the  chimney, 
the  joglars  tuning  up,  and  supper  w^aiting."  This  was  an 
ample  repast,  beautified  with  fresh  roses  and  violets,  but 
of  course  not  equal  to  the  dinner.  We  lingered  at  the 
tables,  talking  and  drinking  piment  deliciousl}'  flavored 
with  honey  and  spices,  but  finally  the  room  was  cleared 


TENNIS. 

XIIJ.    CENTURY. 


and  there  was  more  dancing.  Every  one  began  to  feel 
tired,  however,  and  sitting  down  on  the  rugs  and  cushions 
— a  few  on  the  flowers  and  leaves  themselves — we  listened 
to  the  tales  and  songs  of  the  joglars — such  of  their  endless 
repertory  as  they  thought  the  company  would  hke  best, 
some  in  prose  and  some  in  verse,  and  either  told  with 
great  liveliness  or  chanted  to  the  sound  of  the  viol,  harp, 
or  lute. 

Charlemagne  was  one  of  the  principal  themes,  for  his 
legend,  already  in  existence  while  he  lived,  grew  after- 
ward with  astonishing  vigor  until  finally  he  was  canon- 
ized, and  churches  in  Germany,  Switzerland,  and  Navarre 
held  services  in  his  honor.  Another  was  Alexander ''"  the 
Great,  the  first  ancient  hero  sung  in  the  popular  tongue. 


Passino-  the  Nieht 


M5 


who  was  transformed  during  the  twelfth  centur}-  from  a 
Macedonian  king;  into  a  feudal  prince.  Wise  Cato,  Ccesar 
"  fearless  in  the  storm," 
the  worthies  of  the  Bible 
and  Apocrypha,  Lancelot 
and  the  Round  Table, the 
Old  Man  of  the  Mountain 
and  his  assassins,  were  all 
passed  over  for  once.  So 
were  ^neas  and  Dido, 
Eteocles  and  Poh'uices, 
Daedalus  and  "  silly  Ica- 
rus," Hero  and  Leander, 
Orpheus  and  Eurydice, 
Jason  and  the  watchful 
dragon  ;  but  the  Trojan 
War  and  Tristan  and 
Yseult "'  occupied  a  good 
share  of  the  time. 

Fin  all}'  it  was  the  hour 
for  sleep,  and  wine  reap- 
peared. Then  the  keys 
of  the  castle  were  brought  Lord  Enric,  the  watchman 
made  his  report,  the  household  scattered,  and  the 
guests  were  conducted  with  torches,  candles,  or  lanterns 
to  their  rooms.  My  place  was  an  honorable  one, — to 
sleep  with  Sir  Ugo,  and  we  mounted  b\^  the  sombre  stair- 
case built  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall  to  a  chamber  occu- 
pying half  of  the  third  and  highest  floor  of  the  donjon. 
The  room,  plastered  and  painted  much  like  the  hall,  and 
spread  with  fir  twigs,  odorous  rushes,  and  roses,  contained 
a  fireplace,  a  crucifix  on  the  wall  above  it,  three  ivorj' 
statuettes  of  saints  on  a  shelf,  two  long  clothes-chests  that 
were  also  seats,— one  of  them  covered  with  leather  and 
the  other  with  painted  cloth  and  both  adorned  wath  plaques 

VOL.  II.  — lo. 


A  CHAIR  OF  STATE. 

XM.    CENTURY. 


146  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

of  iron, — one  armchair,  and  two  canopied  beds  to  be  occu- 
pied bj'  four  persons.  More  than  two  hours,  I  should 
think,  we  lay  and  chatted,  as  the  custom  was  ;  and  Ugo 
told  me  all  about  his  horse,  hawks,  and  dogs,  and  his 
dreams  of  love  and  fame,  as  if  I  had  been  an  old  friend, 
asking  my  advice  on  this  point  and  that  with  charming 
frankness. 

Owing  to  the  crowded  state  of  the  castle  its  mistress 
gave  up  her  place,  and  went  with  three  other  ladies  to  the 
apartment  under  the  hall  and  above  the  dungeon,  which 
served  either  as  a  guest-room  or  an  infirmary  ;  and  my 
friend  was  invited  to  sleep  with  Lord  Enric, — the  highest 
honor  that  could  be  paid  him.  Aided  by  an  esquire,  the 
baron  took  off  all  his  clothes  and  put  nothing  on.  His 
drawers  and  shirt  were  placed  under  his  pillow,  and  the 
rest  of  his  garments  hung  on  a  bar  ;  freshly  lighted  candles 
were  set  on  the  candelabrum  ;  and,  with  his  favorite  dog 
already  dozing  under  the  bed.  Lord  Enric  settled  himself 
after  less  than  an  hour  of  chat  for  a  hearty  sleep,  leaving 
his  poor  bedfellow,  almost  smothered  b}-  the  avalanche  of 
clothes,  to  do  the  same  if  he  could. 

"  Dear  to  me  is  the  soft  breeze,  the  season  [of  spring], 
the  month  [of  Ma}-],  the  chatter,  the  laughter,  the  glad- 
ness, the  singing,  and  the  sweet  confusion  [of  sounds] 
that  rises  as  the  morning  opens  " :  ver}^  pleasantly  came 
these  words  of  Guiraut  de  Borneil  to  my  mind  as  I  sat  up 
in  bed  the  next  morning.  For  I  was  not  the  first  who 
awoke  ;  not  onU'^  the  servants  and  many  of  the  family  and 
guests  but  Sir  Ugo  and  the  baron  himself  had  l^een  astir 
for  some  time. 

Later  mj^  friend  told  me  how  the  day  began  in  the  hall. 
The  watchman  on  the  turret  of  the  donjon,  after  saluting 
the  break  of  day  with  a  few  notes  on  his  horn,  descended 
to  the  hall,  awoke  Lord  Enric,  and  made  his  report.  The 
baron  stretched  himself  well  a  few  times,  put. on  his  shirt, 


Beginning  the  Day  147 

drawers,  and  stockings  while  still  in  bed,  and  according 
to  the  rule  of  hygiene  scratched  his  head  thoroughly  to 
drive  away  the  heavy  vapors  that  had  gone  up  there 
during  sleep.  Next,  springing  lightly  to  the  floor  or 
rather  to  one  of  the  fox-skins,  he  washed  his  eyes,  mouth, 
face,  and  hands  in  a  vessel  of  water  brought  in  by  an 
esquire,  and  immediately  prostrating  himself  on  the  floor, 
with  his  head  to  the  east  and  his  arms  outstretched  in  the 
form  of  a  cross,  he  offered  a  brief  praj-er.  Next  he  put 
into  his  mouth  a  bit  of  gentian,^"  chewing  it  and  passing 
it  around  his  teeth  to  preserve  them,  and  then  aided  b}^ 
the  esquire  gayly  completed  his  toilet.  Instead  of  the 
usual  electuary  or  the  bit  of  sugar  steeped  in  rose -juice, 
he  was  brought  a  silver  cup,  and  presenting  it  first  to  his 
bedfellow  he  said  :  ' '  Taste  this  wormwood  fair  and  clear, 
I  beg,  for  it  is  the  month  of  May,"  and  afterward  took  a 
liberal  swallow  himself.  Next  he  perfumed  his  garments 
with  the  odor  of  the  violet,"  and  proceeded  in  a  hooded 
mantle  to  the  church  ;  for  mass  was  said  or  sung  every 
morning,  and  quite  commonly  there  was  also  a  service 
before  dinner  and  another  before  supper. 

Piety  was  in  fact  ver}^  general  in  those  days — at  least 
piet}^  of  the  nerves — but  the  kind  was  peculiar.  The 
brave  chevalier  knelt  very  humbl}^  ;  but  he  pra\'ed  per- 
haps for  the  success  of  a  questionable  love  affair,  or  even 
a  marauding  expedition, — in  short,  whatever  he  had  at 
heart.  Or  perhaps  his  prayer  was  only  a  string  of  for- 
mulae, taught  him  one  day  bj-  a  hermit  whom  he  chanced 
upon  in  the  forest.  One  of  these  highly  valued  orisons 
consisted  of  the  seventy-two  names  of  God — Hebrew, 
Greek,  and  Latin — one  after  another  ;  whoever  had  this 
in  writing  on  his  person  was  counted  sure  of  making  a 
good  end.  There  was  no  discrimination  in  such  matters, 
no  questioning  ; — anything  the  father  had  believed  was 
good  enough  for  the  son.     Side  by  side  with  an  almost 


148  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

childlike  faith  in  a  personal  wonder-working  deity  there 
dwelt  in  men's  minds  a  thoroughly  pagan  belief  in  fate,  in 
magic,  in  astrology  ;  and  the  Sortes  Apostoloriun  ^"^  was 
venerated  as  a  part  of  God's  holy  revelation. 

Anyhow  the  baron  prayed  at  considerable  length,  then 
walked  about  for  a  few  minutes,  and  returning  to  his  don- 
jon talked  a  little  while  with  some  of  his  guests.  We 
breakfasted  '"  v/ith  him  then  on  a  dish  of  savory  meat, 
some  fine  bread,  and  bright  red  wine,  observing  that  our 
host  ate  very  sparingly  and  took  but  a  sip  of  water  at  the 
end  of  the  meal.  The  time  had  come  now  for  our  de- 
parture, and  resisting  all  their  courtly  urgings  to  remain 
for  a  longer  sojourn  or  at  least  for  another  day,  we  re- 
turned awkwardly  enough  the  kisses  of  Lord  Enric  and 
Sir  Ugo,  mounted,  and  rode  away  with  their  parting  salu- 
tation in  our  ears  :  "  May  the  King  of  Paradise  guard 
and  save  you  !  " 

"  And  w^hat  will  his  lordship  do  this  forenoon  ?  "  I  in- 
quired of  my  companion. 

"Just  the  question  I  asked  him,"  was  the  answer. 
"  First  he  will  have  a  nap.  Then  the  castle  will  be 
formally  opened,  and  the  baron  will  administer  justice  in 
the  court-house  of  his  domain, — that  is  to  saj-,  the  hall  of 
the  donjon  ;  after  that  he  will  arrange  household  affairs 
with  his  wife,  hold  a  conference  with  his  bailiff,  settle  dis- 
putes, direct  the  pursuit  of  criminals,  plan  a  tournament, 
and  perhaps  decide  upon  a  pilgrimage.  Then,  should  the 
day  turn  out  fair,  he  will  kick  off  his  soft  shoes,  pull  on 
heavy  boots  of  cordovan,  and  go  a-hunting  or  possibly 
a-fishing  ;  should  it  rain,  he  can  warm  himself  by  the 
hearth  with  an  eye  out  the  window  meanwhile,  play 
chess,  throw  dice,  chat  with  visitors,  or  listen  to  a  joglar 
newly  arrived  with  fresh  stories  and  fresh  songs.  Besides, 
I  rather  suspect  he  has  a  quarrel  to  muse  upon,  and  a 
possible  war  to  consider."  '* 


Their  World  149 

Riding  along,  I  began  to  reflect  upon  the  world  of  the 
troubadours. 

Things  were  marvellously  complex  then,  for  they  had 
grown  instead  of  being  made,  and  they  had  grown  under 
every  sort  of  strain  and  stress.  Aries,  for  example,  was 
divided  into  four  quarters,  and  each  quarter  had  its  lord, 
while  the  city  as  a  whole  was  divided  between  two  su- 
zerains. A  man  might  have  three  or  even  four  lords  :  this 
is  a  suggestion  of  the  possibilities,  and  about  all  the  pos- 
sibilities appear  to  have  been  realized.  Then,  after  one 
has  untangled  the  skein  of  secular  authorities,  one  must 
begin  over  again  with  the  bishops  and  monasteries,  for 
Charlemagne  had  knitted  Church  and  State  together,  and 
the  loops  multiplied. 

Yet  below  the  surface  there  was  an  astonishing  sim- 
plicity. To  speak  roundly,  there  were  no  individuals, 
only  organic  life,  groups,  masses;  for  at  that  time  isolation 
meant  destruction.  There  were  serfs,  villeins,  goldsmiths, 
dyers,  knights,  priests,  nobles  ;  and  of  such  groups  the 
world  was  made  up.  At  Montpellier,  for  example,  a  single 
money-changer  had  no  ballot,  but  the  body  of  money- 
changers had  ten  votes  for  two  consuls,  and  gave  one  of 
its  ten  votes  to  the  pepper-merchants.  Man,  as  man,  did 
not  exist.  Ever}'  person  was  simply  a  drop  in  some  little 
pool  or  in  some  great  lake, — in  short,  destitute  of  that 
personal  freedom  which  our  forefathers  toiled  for  centuries 
to  gain,  and  which  corporations  and  labor-unions  are  now 
toiling  together  to  destroy. 

But  the  new  era  was  opening  :  in  the  songs  of  the  trou- 
badours we  catch  the  note  of  that  individual  life  which 
was  to  have  the  shaping  of  the  modern  world,  and  this  is 
no  slight  claim  upon  our  attention. 

So  passed  the  day.  As  evening  drew  on,  the  storm 
ceased,  and  the  level  beams  of  the  sun  filled  the  eastern 


150  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

sk}'  with  a  double  bow.  We  sallied  out  then  for  a  walk, 
and  found  it  easy  to  realize  that  we  were  just  at  the  heart 
of  troubadour-land.  The  clouds  were  being  swiftly  folded 
a  way  like  a  mantle.  Tiptoe  on  the  dark  mountain  hovered 
pale  Selene,  a  girlish  crescent.  One  by  one  the  great  watch- 
stars  came  out  and  took  post  for  the  night.  Falling  drops 
were  musical  in  the  trees;  and  the  soft  air,  shyh'  caressing 
our  faces,  breathed  upon  us  the  scentless  perfume  of  un- 
speakable freshness. 


XXXII 

VENTAUOUR 
Bernart  de  Ventadorn 

ABOUT  a  league  and  a  half  to  the  east  of  Egletons  lie 
the  church  and  hamlet  of  Moustier  Ventadour.' 
The  ruined  castle  of  mediaeval  Ventadorn  is  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  farther  on,  and  the  \vi\y  is  through  a  lane. 

Now  an  alley  is  better  than  a  street,  a  road  better  than 
an  alley,  a  lane  better  than  a  road  ;  and  the  superlative 
of  all  lanes  is  the  lane  of  Ventadour.  Nature  more  artis- 
tic than  art,  is  its  motto  ;  disorder  more  orderly  than 
order,  is  its  rule. 

To  begin  with,  it  is  never  .straight  ;  and  one  could  not 
possibly  gue.ss  an  instant  beforehand  which  way  it  would 
turn,  whether  it  would  go  up,  or  whether  it  would  go 
down.  Neither  could  one  guess  what  screen  it  would 
throw  up  to  hide  behind.  Here  it  is  properly  walled  in  ; 
there  it  dashes  boldly  across  the  open.  Here  the  fields 
are  above  your  head  ;  there  they  fall  away  in  .slopes  on 
either  hand.  Blackthorn  changes  off  with  au1)epine,  and 
that  with  sweetbriar.  An  elm  hands  you  along  to  a  fir- 
tree,  a  larch  to  an  oak.  The  broom  is  forever  thrusting 
its  bright  yellow  blossoms  among  the  shrubbery,  and  is 
not  afraid  even  to  confront  a  rose.  The  greeni.sh  blossoms 
of  the  hemp  give  us  a  homely  greeting.  Hollj^  reminds 
us  that  once  the  English  tongue  was  spoken  here.  A 
ttnnble-down  line  of  big  stones  ends  in  a  huge  clump  of 

151 


152 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


ferns,  and  then  a  wall  of  apple  branches  covered  with 
long  grey  moss  begins.  A  fence  of  wickerwork  full  of 
the  green  shoots  of  pushing  medlars  comes  next.  Soon  a 
gnarled  oak  thrusts  out  a  twisted  branch,  and  the  path, 
taking  fright,  darts  instantly  into  a  grove  of  pines  and 
birches.  Wheat  up  to  the  shoulder  guards  the  lane  next  ; 
and  then  we  come  to  stones  again,  upholstered  with  deep 
vellow   moss.       Here   stands   an   ancient   cross    of   oak, 


AT    MOUSTIER    VENTADOUR. 


weather-beaten  to  the  core.  The  lane  opens.  Around  a 
miniature  common  are  three  or  four  cottages  of  stone. 
The  high-peaked  roofs  of  thatch  come  almost  down  to  the 
ground,  with  dormers  like  birds'  nests  perched  midway. 
A  grapevine  runs  around  below  the  eaves.  Lilacs  bend 
far  out  over  the  garden  walls.  On  one  side  is  a  patriarchal 
chestnut,  and  beneath  it  a  stone  crucifix  that  has  marked 
perhaps  its  thousand  years.  And  all  the  way  along,  mar- 
guerites and  clover,  buttercups  and  forget-me-nots,  have 


Ventaclour  153 

been  sown  with  open  hands,  and  in  the  trees  birds  have 
not  been  sparing  of  songs.  Such  is  the  overture  to 
Ventadorn. 

The  lane  ends  at  a  short  neck  of  open  ground,  only  two 
or  three  rods  in  width.  Two  great  fosses  evidently  cro.ssed 
it  in  the  olden  time.  Beyond  is  a  small  peninsula  ri.sing, 
I  should  think,  three  or  four  hundred  feet  between  two 
sinuous  and  brawling  streams  that  unite  here  ;  and  on  the 
ridge  of  the  peninsula  stand  the  ruins  of  the  castle. 

At  M  Dustier  we  left  our  carriage,  and  I  found  a  man  to 
carry  ni}'  camera. 

What  a  cute  little  man  he  was  !  How  his  thin  short 
legs  vibrated  after  my  long  ones,  as  I  circumnavigated  the 
castle  for  points  of  view  !  How  astonished  he  was  to  see 
the  Monsieur  get  up  and  down  the  ledgy  ground  so  fast  ! 
How  he  regretted  putting  on  his  Sunday  clothes  and  the 
little  round  black  hat,  so  close  and  hot  !  But  the  scram- 
bling was  done  at  last,  and  while  I  climbed  back  to  the 
height  he  provided  us  a  lunch.  It  was  only  bread,  cheese, 
and  wnne,  but  when  did  anything  ever  taste  so  good  ? 
Good  though  it  was  we  made  short  work  of  it,  however, 
and  then  set  ourselves  to  examine  the  ruins  in  detail. 

They  form  a  roughly  drawn  rectangle.  At  the  north- 
west toward  the  lane  was  the  old  gateway,  opening  into 
the  castle  enclosure  through  a  long  arched  passage,  now 
filled  with  debris  and  guarded  only  by  a  great  locust  tree. 
The  passage  was  only  wide  enough  for  two  horsemen 
abreast,  I  should  judge,  and  so  was  easily  blocked  in  the 
way  of  an  enem3\  In  the  middle  of  the  northeastern  side 
is  the  donjon,  mantled  thick  with  the  foliage  and  the 
shining  black  berries  of  the  ivy.  The  top  has  long  since 
crumbled,  and  in  the  place  of  battlements  and  banners  are 
evergreens  and  white  birches  and  a  tangle  of  shrubbery. 

On  this  side  the  wall  is  high  still  ;  but  on  the  other  it 
is  nearly  gone,  leaving  under  the  pines  a  row  of  solemn 


154  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

fragments,  like  the  tombs  along  the  Appian  Wa}-.  One 
end  of  the  court  is  filled  with  pines,  the  body-guard  of  a 
superb  fir,  and  the  other  with  pears  and  apples,  holding 
5'et  a  few  sturdy  blossoms.  Here  is  greensward  of  the 
freshest  grass,  there  a  carpet  of  scented  needles  from  the 
pines.  Strawberries  are  blooming  against  the  walls  ; 
blackberry  vines  have  woven  a  maze  of  greenery  in  a 
corner.  A  dozen  sorts  of  wild-flowers — red,  white,  pink, 
yellow,  blue — and  twenty  kinds  of  elfin  leaves  find  room 
between  the  stones  and  among  the  clover,  white  and  red. 
And  over  everj-  wall  and  ever}-  heap  of  ruins  the  ivy, 
moss,  and  shrubbery,  the  ferns  and  the  roses,  are  holding 
their  summer  carnival. 

But  the  tale  is  not  done.  Around  the  northern  end  of 
the  castle  is  a  thick  grove.  Pines  and  larches,  oaks  and 
chestnuts,  have  gathered  there  shoulder  to  shoulder. 
vSome  look  over  the  wall  into  the  court,  some  are  almost 
slipping  down  the  declivity.  White  birches  and  quiver- 
ing aspens  lighten  the  dark  foliage.  Turtle-doves  and 
ring-doves  and  nightingales  flit  among  the  branches  ; 
swallows  and  a  few  larks  are  soaring  in  the   skv  above. 

Is  this  all  ?  B}-  no  means.  Leave  the  court  by  a 
postern-gate  on  the  side  opposite  the  grove  and  you  find 
yourself  in  the  old  garden,  walled  by  sheer  precipices  and 
crumbling  parapets  draped  with  every  device  of  shrubbery 
and  vine.  At  the  end  of  it,  perched  on  the  very  brink  of 
the  rock,  is  a  maisonnette  or  pavilion — a  single  room  with 
cellar  and  attic — centuries  old  but  still  kept  in  tolerable 
repair,  its  thatch  gilded  with  moss.  The  garden,  shaded 
once,  I  fancy,  with  a  lofty  pine,  the  usual  decoration  of  a 
palace  court  or  garden,  is  now  set  with  pear  trees  and 
sown  with  grasses  and  wild-flowers. 

Here  we  rest  on  the  low  parapet  among  the  medlars, 
looking  down  to  the  rivers  and  looking  abroad  upon  the 
orchards  and  the  groves,  the  rounded  granite  hills  clothed 


Ventadour  155 

with  forests  of  chestnuts,  and  the  fields  pasturing  those 
red  cattle  which  Michelet  thought  so  characteristic  of 
Limousin.  The  breeze,  ever  freshening  and  ever  dying 
away,  soughs  in  the  pines  and  flutters  in  the  aspens.  In 
the  stillness  not  the  birds  only  but  every  leaf  seems  to 
have  a  tongue.  Even  a  cord  attached  to  my  camera 
sings  out  richly  in  the  wind.  What  beaut}'  is  lacking  ? 
Ventadorn  was  a  great  fortress  once  ;  when  it  fell  into 
English  hands  in  the  later  days  even  the  terrible  Du 
Gue.sclin  could  not  recover  it.  But  now  it  is  better  than 
a  fortress  :  it  is  a  poem, — no,  a  volume  of  poetry. 

Here  is  the  wild  ballad  verse  of  ivy,  bush,  and  blo.ssom. 
The  epic  of  gorge  and  precipice,  of  tower  and  wall  is  here. 
Here  is  the  lyric  of  sun  and  skj^  the  tuneful  river,  the 
breeze,  the  unseen  chorus  of  nightingales,  and  the  lark  at 
heaven's  gate.  Then  history  has  filled  the  volume  with 
pictures,  and  romance  has  filled  it  with  music  :  until  in 
all  the  world,  so  far  as  I  have  been,  there  is  no  spot  where 
so  many  strands  of  charm  and  interest  are  interwoven  in 
so  delightful  a  pattern.  And  finally,  to  all  the  mute 
poetry,  the  silent  history,  and  the  dumb  romance,  we 
must  add  that  which  speaks,  that  which  sings  ;  for  this 
was  the  home  of  Bernart  de  Ventadorn,  and  the  cradle  of 
what  is  most  really  "  Provencal  song." 

How  long-ago  and  yet  how  present  the  story  seems  ! 

One  can  still  make  out  the  wide-sweeping  zigzags  by 
which  the  castle  was  approached  in  the  time  of  the  trou- 
badours. There,  on  a  day  like  this,  at  almost  exactly  the 
middle  point  of  the  twelfth  century,  a  little  cavalcade 
crept  slowly  up  from  the  valley.  Rounding  the  northern 
end  of  the  castle  it  passed  through  the  grove,  entered  the 
arched  passage  on  the  western  side,  and  appeared  in  the 
court. 

First  rode  the  viscount  of  Ventadorn,  Eble  III.  He 
bore  perhaps  a  little  too  much  of  that  lordly  and  confident 


156  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

air  which  bridges  you  fifty  difficulties  but  ends  by  drop- 
ping you  plumply  into  a  deeper  cleft  than  any  of  them  ; 
but  he  was  courtly  and  fine-looking,  with  an  open  face 
and  a  hearty  manner.  One  could  see  at  a  glance  that  he 
loved  the  pleasure  and  refinement  of  the  new  culture. 
Indeed,  it  could  scarcely  have  been  otherwise.  His 
father,  the  second  Eble,  was  not  only  a  rich  lord  but  a 
troubadour  himself,  one  of  the  very  earliest  ;  and  his  taste 
for  poetry,  even  more  than  his  wit  and  good-nature,  had 
endeared  him  to  that  great  duke  of  Aquitaine  whose 
figure  is  looming  up  before  us. 

Next  him  rode  the  viscountess,  one  of  the  daughters 
of  Turenne,  a  name  destined  to  be  glorious  in  the  annals 
of  France.  Her  face  was  beautiful  but  crossed  by  a  shade 
of  irritation,  a  touch  of  anger,  for  there  had  been  words 
between  her  and  the  viscount. 

Then  came  a  man  of  average  height,  well  filled  out — in 
fact  inclined  just  perceptibly  to  stoutness^ — who  discreetlj- 
rode  a  pace  or  two  behind  her  ladyship,  keeping  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  her,  and  wearing  a  look  of  deep  interest, — even 
anxiety.  You  would  have  seen  nothing  remarkable  about 
him  save  his  eyes, — large,  eloquent,  purposeful,  too,  but 
neither  bold  nor  crafty.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  was 
peculiarly  pleasing, — low  but  perfectly  clear,  with  rich 
overtones,  and  full  of  the  "  Mesopotamian  "  quality  of 
sympathy  and  unction. 

His  name  was  Bernart."  A  serving- woman  was  his 
mother,  one  so  humble  that,  as  Peire  d'Alvernhe  said, 
she  gathered  twigs  to  heat  the  oven  ;  and  his  father — by 
the  book — helped  bake  the  bread  in  times  of  peace,  and  in 
war  fought  as  a  common  bowman.  But  the  former  vis- 
count— the  "  Singer,"  as  people  called  him — took  a  deep 
interest  in  the  boy,  educated  him  after  the  manner  of  the 
times — probably  in  a  monastery  school — taught  him  to 
make  verse,  and  encouraged  his  young  talent.     He  grew 


^-        -*• 


VENTADOUR    FROM    THE    EAST. 


157 


Her  Ladyship's  Houdoir  159 

up,  in  fact,  like  a  boy  of  quality,  and  now  rode  with  the 
young  viscount  and  his  lady  almost  as  an  equal." 

Bernart  and  the  viscountess  dismounted;  the  attendants 
led  their  horses  away  to  the  stables  ;  Eble  turned  back 
after  a  little  conversation  and  rode  slowly  down  the  hill  ; 
Bernart  disappeared  ;  and  Lady  Margarida  mounted  to 
her  boudoir  in  the  second  story  of  the  donjon.' 

It  was  a  beautiful  room,  occupying  one  half  of  the  space, 
and  separated  by  curtains  from  the  other  half,  the  .sleeping 
apartment;  for  the  lord  of  Ventadorn  and  his  lady  had  the 
most  cultured  taste  of  the  day,  and  wealth  enough  to 
gratify  it  amply.  The  floor,  not  of  the  usual  tiles,  but  of 
white  marble  cut  in  squares,  was  nearly  covered  with  an 
exquisite  rug,  the  finest  work  of  Poitiers,  while  here  and 
there  lay  the  skin  of  a  fox  or  a  wolf  At  intervals  around 
the  wall  stood  pillars  of  blue  limestone  with  ba.ses  of  mar- 
ble— cut,  as  the  workmen  proudly  declared,  like  those  of 
Solomon — and  crowned  with  capitals  of  red  sardonyx. 
Between  the  pillars,  plaques  of  enamel  decorated  with 
various  patterns  in  colors  were  set  here  and  there  in  the 
masonr}^  ;  but  nearly  all  of  these  were  hidden  with  rich 
hangings  of  Palermo  tapestry  in  which  could  be  read  the 
tales  of  Floris  and  Blancaflor,  of  lyandrics  and  Aya,  and 
of  Tristan  and  Yseult. 

Above  the  fireplace  had  been  set  a  round  mosaic  about 
two  and  a  half  feet  in  diameter  representing  St.  Martial, 
— a  French  design  executed  by  Italian  artists.  In  the 
centre  knelt  the  saint  clad  in  a  blue  mantle  lined  with 
red,  the  folds  of  which  were  marked  with  lines  of  black. 
His  arms,  raised  toward  heaven,  showed  the  green  and 
white  sleeves  of  his  bliaut.  The  pose  of  the  head  was 
rather  stiff ;  but  the  shape  of  it  and  the  features,  done  in 
black  and  red  upon  a  white  ground,  were  far  from  dis- 
pleasing, especially  at  a  little  distance.  About  the  figure 
laj^  a  field  of  gilt  glass  in  little  squares,  on  which  the  name 


i6o  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

of  the  artist  was  inscribed  in  black  stones  ;  while  around 
the  whole  ran  a  legend,  forming  a  border  in  green,  white, 
and  black. 

In  one  corner  stood  a  priedieu,  with  a  small  crucifix  of 
gilded  brass  on  the  wall  above  it.  Upon  the  crucifix  was 
inlaid  the  figure  of  the  Saviour  in  ivory,  with  a  loin-cloth 
and  a  nimbus  of  varicolored  enamel;  and  before  it  burned 
a  small  hanging  lamp  of  brass  :  lizards  crawling  up  the 
bowl  of  the  lamp  held  the  chains  in  their  mouths.  On 
the  right  an  oaken  chest,  carved  at  the  corners,  gave  out 
a  faint  odor  of  musk  :  evidently  it  held  the  lady's  ward- 
robe. On  a  table  at  the  left  stood  a  work-box  brought 
from  Constantinople, — an  oblong  case  covered  with  em- 
bossed and  gilded  leather.  Upon  this  had  been  placed 
her  ladyship's  jewel-case,  a  present  from  Guilhem,  the 
troubadour-duke  of  Aquitaine,  to  the  former  viscountess. 
This  was  a  casket  of  ivory,  elaborately  ornamented  with 
engraved  and  gilded  plates  of  silver,  like  that  in  the 
treasury  of  the  cathedral  of  Bayonne — onl}-  simpler,  as  the 
work  of  an  earlier  day  would  be — and  like  that  a  product 
of  Arab  skill  ;  and  beside  the  box  w^ere  a  roll  of  manu- 
script— doubtless  poems — wrapped  in  white  samite,  and  a 
goblet  of  chased  gold  wrought  b}^  the  goldsmith  monks  of 
Uinioges. 

Light  entered  the  room  by  two  windows  rather  small 
and  necessarily  verj'  deep.  Thej'  were  set  with  Poitou 
glass,  rough  and  uneven  but  admirable  for  the  time,  and 
shaded  with  curtains  of  pale  blue  silk,  the  gauzy  fabric  of 
Mosul,  embroidered  around  the  edges.  Between  the  win- 
dows extended  a  divan  upholstered  in  pale  yellow  brocade. 
The  cushions  were  covered  with  a  light  blue  cendal  that 
had  come  bj^  the  way  of  Alexandria  and  Venice  from  the 
silk  looms  of  Persia,  and  around  their  edges  ran  a  wide 
border  of  embroidery  in  gold, — a  vine  pattern,  enclosing 
alternately  nightingales  and  larks  worked  in  violet  silk. 


Bernart  de  Ventadorn  i6r 

On  one  of  the  cushions  lay  a  liunch  of  ostrich  feathers 
that  served  as  a  fan,  with  a  crystal  scent-box  beside  it,  the 
lid  of  which  was  of  pure  gold  with  a  large  rul)}-  in  the 
centre  ;  and  a  harp  leaned  against  the  wall  near  by/ 

The  viscountess  laid  aside  her  outer  garments  ;  and 
then,  brushing  past  the  palms  and  other  green  plants  that 
partly  filled  the  recesses  of  the  windows,  threw  the  case- 
ments open.  Next,  sitting  down  on  the  edge  of  the  divan, 
she  drew  off  her  gloves  of  chamois  worked  with  gold- 
thread, and  changed  her  riding  l)oots  for  dainty  low  slip- 
pers of  purple  brocade,  embroidered  by  Christina,  the 
prioress  of  Margate,  a  lad}'  famous  for  her  needlework, 
and  presented  to  her  by  Bernart.  There  was  a  rose  on  the 
top  of  each  slipper  worked  in  colors  with  no  little  skill, 
though  it  was  fift}'  years  too  early  for  embroidered  flowers 
to  appear  in  the  forms  of  nature  ;  and  the  viscountess, 
leaning  forward  with  her  clasped  hands  resting  on  her 
knees,  gazed  absent-mindedly  at  the  two  little  feet  thrust 
side  by  side  from  beneath  her  robe,  and  the  two  roses  that 
adorned  them. 

Her  features,  piquant  and  sharply  accented  but  fine  and 
somewhat  over-delicate,  revealed  her  character:  imperious 
but  not  strong,  passionate  but  not  masterful.  Her  charms 
could  not  fail  to  inspire  love,  and  the  hauteur  that  pointed 
ever>'  grace  only  rendered  her  a  more  tempting  conquest. 
The  loveliness  of  the  .scene,  however,  would  have  left  but 
verj'  few  observers  cool  enough  to  analyze  the  viscountess. 
Beauty  of  form,  of  attitude,  and  of  expression  combined 
to  make  an  exquisite  picture,  and  while  she  mused,  the 
sunn}'  breeze  lifted  now  and  then  a  blonde  tress  on  her 
forehead  that  had  escaped  from  its  braid,  and  the  birds  of 
the  grove,  singing  as  they  are  singing  now,  wove  on  and 
on  amid  the  stillness  delightful  and  intricate  music,  like 
golden  lace  on  the  edge  of  a  dark  mantle. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  curtain  at  the  entrance  of  the 

VOL.    II. — II. 


1 62  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

boudoir  was  gently  pushed  aside,  and  Bernart  entered. 
The  viscountess  greeted  him  with  a  look  that  was  proud 
and  would  fain  have  been  scornful,  and  he  met  the  look 
with  an  air  of  the  fullest  deference  but  without  a  trace  of 
timidity. 

The  two  gazed  at  each  other  a  moment  in  silence,  and 
it  was  evident  that  the  one  had  authority, — the  other, 
power. 

"  Well,  Bernart,"  she  began  defiantly,  with  a  touch  of 
petulance  ;  but  her  eyes  fell  before  his  tender  yet  steady 
glance  and  her  tone  sank  with  them.  "  I  understand  ;  you 
have  come  to  give  me  one  more  song." 

"  A  song  is  not  much  to  offer  when  I  would  give  my 
life,"  he  answered,  accepting  for  the  moment  the  con- 
struction of  his  visit  that  she  tried  to  fix  upon  him. 
"  Yes,  a  farewell  song,"  he  continued."  "  Ever  since  you 
bade  me  leave  you  it  has  been  haunting  my  thoughts  : 
now  I  will  be  free  of  it " ;  and  taking  the  harp  from  the 
wall  he  played  a  few  notes  as  a  prelude,  and  then  sang  : 

Whene'er  the  lark's  glad  wings  I  see 

Beat  sunward  'gainst  the  radiant  sky 
Till,  lost  in  joy  so  sweet  and  free. 
She  drops,  forgetful  how  to  fly, — 
Ah,  when  I  view  such  happiness 

My  bosom  feels  so  deep  an  ache, 
Meseems  for  pain  and  sore  distress 

My  longing  heart  will  straightway  break, 

Alas,  I  thought  I  held  the  key 

To  love  !    How  ignorant  am  I ! 
For  her  that  ne'er  will  pity  me 
I  am  not  able  to  defy  ; 

My  loving  heart,  my  faithfulness. 

Myself,  my  world,  she  deigns  to  take, 
Then  leaves  me  bare  and  comfortless 
To  longing  thoughts  that  ever  wake. 


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THE  ORIGINAL   MUSIC  OF  "WHENER   THE   LARK'S  GLAD  WINGS" 
IN   MODERN  NOTATION. 


163 


Bernart  de  Ventaclorn  165 

Henceforth  all  ladies  I  will  flee,— 

No  more  in  hope  or  trust  I  '11  sigh  ; 
Oft  have  I  been  their  guarantee, 
But  now  for  champion  let  them  hie 

Where'er  they  will  ;  for  one  could  bless 

My  life,  yet  binds  me  to  the  stake  ; 
They  're  all  alike,  and  I  profess 
That  all  alike  I  now  forsake. 

Pity  is  lost !     How  can  it  be  ? 

On  that  I  thought  I  could  rely. 
Where  shall  I  seek  it  now,  for  she 
That  owes  the  most  hath  least  supply  ? 
The  wrong — ah,  how  shall  words  express, 
When  .she  who  could  the  torment  slake 
Of  one  who  craves  nor  more  nor  less, 
Lets  death  the  longing  wretch  o'ertake? 

But  since  my  lady  hears  no  plea. 

Scorns  justice,  mercy  will  den\-, 
And  smiles  to  see  me  on  my  knee, 
1  plead  no  more, — I  say  good-bye  ; 
Good-bye  to  all  I  would  possess  ! 

She  strikes  :  my  death  shall  answer  make  ; 
She  bids  :  heart-sick  I  acquiesce. 
And  welcome  exile  for  her  sake.'' 

It  was  evident  that  voice  and  song  had  not  failed  en- 
tirely of  effect,  for  Margarida's  cheeks  told  the  story 
hidden  in  her  downca.st  eyes.  Bernart  sttidied  her  both 
tenderly  and  keenly  for  a  long  moment  ;  and  then,  after 
another  short  preltide  on  the  harp,  he  .sang  with  all  the 
depth  and  sweetness  of  his  voice  another  .song,  composed 
tinder  very  different  circnmstances  and  fraught  for  both 
their  hearts  with  very  different  emotions. 

It  is  no  wonder  if  I  sing 

A  better  song  than  all  the  rest, 

For  Love  is  mightier  in  my  breast, 
My  life  a  fitter  oflfering  ; 


1 66  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

For  heart  and  body,  mind  and  sense 
Are  given  to  Love,  and  all  my  might, 
Nor  can  I  turn  to  left  or  right, — 

The  rein  toward  love  is  drawn  so  tense. 

Dead  is  the  heart  with  redolence 
Of  some  sweet  love  no  longer  blest, 
And  he  is  but  a  tiresome  guest 
Who  lives  and  yet  of  love  repents  ; 
God  hate  me  not  enough  to  bring 
That  curse  on  me  !     I  'd  see  the  light 
No  more  when  life  is  dull  and  trite, 
Nor  still  to  longing  love  I  cling. 

'T  is  but  the  truth  upon  this  ring  : 
I  love  the  fairest  and  the  best ; 
Too  much  I  love  her,  as  attest 
The  sighs  that  well,  the  tears  that  spring  ; 
Yet  how  escape?     Love  ne'er  relents. 
But  holds  me  still  in  prison  tight  : 
Ah,  Mercy's  kej',  though  small  and  slight  — 
If  but  it  would — could  save  me  thence. 

Love  smites  my  heart  with  violence 
So  sweet  that  dying  I  am  blest 
Ten  times  an  hour  with  cheer  and  zest 
That  bring  life  back  yet  more  intense ; 
So  dear  the  pains  my  heart  that  wring, 
Their  loss  no  gladness  could  requite  ; 
Oh,  how  love's  bliss  will  give  delight. 
Since  love  is  pleasant  though  it  sting  ! 

Good  lady,  I  ask  not  a  thing 
Except  to  serve  at  your  behest ; 
Whatever  boon  reward  my  quest 
I  '11  serve  as  vassal  serves  his  king ; 
Behold  !  In  true  obedience 

A  gay  and  courtly  heart  I  plight ; 
You  're  neither  bear  nor  lion— quite — 
To  kill  me  if  I  cease  defence.^ 

Still  the  viscountess  did  not  look  up  nor  utter  a  word, 


Bernart  de  Ventadorn  167 

and  after  a  pause  Bernart  began  to  speak, — but  slowl}', 
very  slowly  at  first,  and  with  many  a  break. 

"  Lady,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  who  love 
vou  so  ?  .  .  .  God  help  me,  for  I  never  loved  any- 
thing so  much  !  I  cannot  sleep  morning  nor  evening,  for 
at  night  when  I  go  to  mj^  couch  the  nightingale  sings 
and  cries,  and  I  who  used  to  sing  die  with  longing  and 
heaviness.  .  .  .  Since  we  were  both  children  I  have 
loved  you,  and  my  love  has  kept  on  doubling  every  day 
of  the  year  ;  and  when  you  are  old  I  shall  still  be  asking 
3'ou  for  your  good-will  if  j-ou  do  not  show  me  love  and 
favor  before  that.  ...  I  never  was  aware  till  I  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  fire.  Never  did  I  think  that  your 
smiling  lips  would  betray, — for  you  slew  me  with  a  sweet 
kiss.  .  .  .  Time  goes  and  comes  and  returns, — days, 
months,  years  ;  and  I  know  not  what  to  saj',  for  ni}'  love 
is  still  strong,  still  strong  and  changeless.  .  .  .  What 
will  become  of  me,  what  will  it  be  worth  to  live,  when  I 
no  longer  see  j'ou  at  the  window, — beautiful  and  fresh 
as  the  snow  at  Christmas  ?  .  .  .  I  ask  no  other  favor 
but  that  when  none  can  see  it  you  turn  your  spiritual 
eyes  upon  me,  with  a  look  so  long  that  one  da}-  will  seem 
to  me  like  a  hundred.  .  .  .  It  is  right  that  a  woman 
grow  tender  toward  him  that  has  a  heart  to  love.  . 
One  only  do  I  desire,  one  only  have  I  ever  desired.  .  .  . 
Hands  joined  [as  when  I  pray  to  God]  I  come  before  you, 
lady ;  nevermore  will  I  stir  from  3'our  feet. ' '  ' 

Quickly  laying  aside  the  harp  Bernart  cast  himself  on 
his  knees  before  his  lady,  took  her  unresponsive  but  un- 
resisting hands  in  both  of  his,  and  pleaded  with  words  it 
is  not  lawful  to  repeat.  Nor  did  he  plead  with  words 
alone.  From  head  to  foot  he  trembled,  as  once  he  said 
of  himself,  "  trembled  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind."  Rivers 
of  water  poured  down  his  pallid  face.  Within  him  strug- 
gled an  agony  of  effort.     The  cords  of  his  heart  seemed 


1 68  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

breaking.  His  knotted  will  tugged  and  groaned  :  "  O 
Love,  O  Love  !     .     .     ." 

And  the  viscountess  ? 

We  know  already  that  women  were  not  "  strong- 
minded  "  in  the  troubadour  da\-s.  As  Bernart  sang, 
Margarida  found  with  amazement,  with  consternation, 
that  all  the  questions  answered  with  infinite  pain  during 
the  past  few  weeks  were  again  before  her.  Once  alread)- 
she  had  sent  him  from  her,'"  and  at  the  parting  "  she 
covered  her  face  and  could  not  say  so  much  as  Yes  or 
No";  but  now  it  was  even  worse.  All  her  agitations 
burst  upon  her  anew  and  all  together.  The  fountains  of 
the  great  deep  were  broken  up  in  her  bosom.  A  tumult 
of  emotions  deafened  her  inner  sense. 

Then,  little  by  little,  she  became  aware  of  thinking. 
As  sometimes  one  is  not  conscious  in  what  language  he  is 
addressed,  but  only  that  he  is  receiving  thought,  so  she 
could  scarcely  have  told  whether  she  heard  Bernart  or  not. 
But  .she  heard  a  voice,  and  with  it  there  came  something 
else.  Softly,  at  first,  and  care.ssingly,  then  swiftly  and 
more  swiftly,  the  singing  of  the  birds  seemed  to  be  weav- 
ing spells  of  enchantment  in  her  brain. 

She  tried  to  reason.  She  must  do  right.  But  what 
was  the  right?  "  Love  is  a  great  queen,"  she  said  to 
herself  ' '  She  requires  tribute  of  all,  and  I  have  paid  her 
none.  If  .she  lose  the  income  of  the  fief  it  is  an  affront  to 
her  and  ruin  to  me.  A  fief  that  pays  no  tribute  is  forfeit. 
And  Love  demands  lodging,  too,  in  my  heart.  It  is  the 
sovereign's  right.  I  am  bound  to  open  the  gates.  If  I 
resi.st  I  must  lose  my  castle  :  beauty  and  youthful  spirit 
will  go  forever."  To  and  fro.  round  and  round,  the  spells 
went  on  weaving. 

Then  came  Fear.  "  M>-  husband — may  burn  me  alive. 
.  .  .  Am  I  a  coward  then  ?  .  .  .  The  world,  friends, 
rivals  ?  "     .     .     .     But  they  seemed  .strangeh'  far  away  ; 


5: 

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Bernart  de  Ventadorn  j  71 

and,  though  she  could  not  hear  their  words,  their  faces 
looked  hungry  and  envious.  And  still  the  spells  went  on 
weaving. 

Now  she  knew  what  she  heard.  Bernart  had  put  the 
harp  aside.  He  knelt.  He  pleaded.  Like  the  lark,  she 
seemed  to  be  falling  in  mid-air — for  excess  of  joy.  "  Yes, 
Love,"  said  her  heart  within  her,  "  Yes,  Love,  I  yield. 
The  gates  are  open.  Come  in  !  The  castle — with  all  it 
holds — is  yours. ' '     Yet  still  she  could  not  move  nor  speak. 

But  the  spell  was  very  swift  now.  The  rosy  cheeks 
were  pale  ;  the  "  smiling  lips  "  were  strained.  Suddenly, 
as  gold  yields  all  at  once  in  the  furnace,  the  light  of  her 
eyes  melted.  For  an  instant  her  senses  swam  ;  and  in 
that  instant  the  gates  lifted  up  their  heads,  and  the  ecstasy 
of  surrender  entered  in.  .  .  .  Bernart  and  Love  and 
the  nightingales — had  won." 

"  All  this  was  wrong." 

No  doubt  ;  very  wrong  ;  but  we  are  writing  history, 
not  ethics.  Furthermore,  as  history  needs  to  be  just  and 
a  bit  philosophical,  too,  we  must  add  that  while  we  may 
well  pity  two  mortals  who  had  neither  principle  nor  wis- 
dom enough  to  avoid  a  passion  that  was  both  impossible 
and  prohibited,  we  cannot  altogether  blame  them. 

Bernart  was  a  man  wholly  consecrated  to  love  by  his 
very  nature.  The  proverb  of  the  silk  purse  has  many  ex- 
ceptions, but  the  man's  temperament,  his  talent,  and  the 
peculiar  consideration  shown  him  in  the  family  of  Venta- 
dorn suggest  that  he  was  a  love-child.'-'  Certainly  he 
cared  for  nothing  but  love.  Neither  war,  politics,  history, 
morals,  nor  erudition  occupied  his  thoughts,  if  we  may 
judge  from  his  poetry  and  his  own  assurances.  Love 
was  all  in  all  ;  and  love  could  mean  to  him — only  what 
we  have  just  seen.  A  congenial  marriage  was  impossible. 
He  was  entirely  without  property  and  was  not  a  soldier. 
The  only  cultivated  women  were  those  of  feudal  rank, 


1/2  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

and  an  heiress  would  not  have  entrusted  her  e.states  to  the 
guardianship  of  a  poet,  even  if  willing  to  marry  a  man  of 
low  birth  ;  nor  would  her  protectors  have  permitted  such 
an  act.  What  could  he  do  ?  Forswear  love  ?  But  with- 
ont  love  he  could  not  be  a  poet  in  those  days,  and  poetry- 
was  his  livelihood  as  well  as  his  life.  There  was  but  one 
alternative, — to  become  a  monk.  But  for  a  man  full  of 
passion  to  enter  the  cloi.ster  without  a  profound  vocation 
meant  ruin  to  himself,  and,  as  the  career  of  Folquet 
shows,  might  bring  ruin  upon  many  others. 

Neither  let  us  condemn  the  viscountess,  for  Bernart 
was  not  a  man  to  be  resisted.  Could  one's  eye  have 
stripped  the  flesh  awa}-,  as  a  portrait  painter's  can  remove 
the  garments  of  a  sitter,  it  would  have  found  beneath  his 
fair  and  smiling  face  a  powerful  nose,  and  a  broad  and 
massive  chin.  He  was  one  that  could  brim  with  life  yet 
never  be  exuberant,  and  burn  with  a  .still  fire  that  made 
no  smoke.  He  would  take  your  hand  in  the  gentlest, 
quietest  way,  but  you  would  feel  the  pressure  long  after 
he  was  gone.  When  you  had  known  him  a  good  while, 
it  would  suddenly  dawn  upon  you  that  he  was  a  man  of 
remarkable  quickne.ss  and  wit.  Then  after  another  time 
you  would  perhaps  discover  that  wathout  seeming  to  trj' 
he  had  carried  you  along  wherever  he  chose  to  go.  What 
is  the  word, — magnetism  ? 

And  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  love  disinterestedly. 
He  could  not,  like  Arnaut  de  Maruelh,  find  solace  in 
dreaming  of  his  lad\-.  He  lay  awake  instead  of  dream- 
ing ;  and  the  morning  light  found  him  with  a  new  plea,  a 
new  ruse,  a  new  power.  Nothing  that  could  please  the 
fair  sex  was  neglected  by  him.  Blondel  has  told  us  the 
three  chief  means  to  win  a  lady's  heart  :  sincere  love, 
generosity,  and  courtly  speech  ;  besides  these,  Bernart 
made  a  constant  study,  as  we  learn  from  him.self,  of  oblig- 
ing service,  graceful  horsemanship,  and  elegance  of  dress. 


Bernart  de  Vcntadorn  i  73 

With  all  this  he  was  a  nmsiciaii  and  a  poet.  As  the 
Monk  anticipated  the  devil-maj'-care  Burns,  Bernart  an- 
ticipated Ikirns  the  tender  and  the  passionate.  As 
original,  as  deep  and  sincere,  as  melodious  and  winning, 
and  a  finer  artist,  he  must  be  ranked  among  the  great 
poets  of  all  time.  What  could  not  such  a  magician  do  with 
a  fair  lady's  heart, — aided  from  without  by  the  spirit  and 
fashion  of  the  day,  and  from  within  b}-  that  persuasiv^e 
instinct,  the  universal  craving  to  love  and  to  be  loved  ? 


XXXIII 
EGIvETONS 

Bernart  de  Ventadorn  {Concluded) 

THE  hotel  of  Egletous  is  a  quaint  affair.  A  long  flight 
of  stone  steps — turning  twice — leads  j'ou  from  the 
yard  under  a  luxuriant  grapevine  and  through  a  door 
into  the  dim  and  smoke-betinted  kitchen.  Next  comes  a 
small  room  where  the  humbler  guests  and  the  servants 
take  their  meals,  if  the  kitchen  is  not  sufficiently  elegant 
for  their  taste.  Descending  two  or  three  steps  j-ou  find 
yourself  then  in  the  dining-room  of  state,  the  second  stor}^ 
of  the  carriage-house  ;  and  beyond  this,  in  the  loft  of  the 
stable,  are  chambers  for  the  guests. 

At  first  the  place  was  entirely  our  own  ;  but  on  return- 
ing from  Ventadour  we  found  the  dinner-table  pretty  well 
filled.  IMost  of  the  men — I  scarcely  ever  saw  a  woman  at 
the  table  of  a  provincial  hotel — most  of  the  men  were  evi- 
dently of  the  region,  and  I  was  very  glad  to  see  them. 
Here,  as  I  have  said,  was  the  cradle  of  Provengal  poetr}^; 
and  while  of  course  the  folks  about  us  had  nothing  to  do 
with  that,  the\^  could  but  reflect  the  tone  and  temper  of 
the  province,  an  influence  which  none  who  lived  there 
could  escape. 

A  traveller  must  not  generalize  hastily,  especially  seven 
centuries  after  the  event,  but  it  seemed  clear  to  me  that 
the  people  of  Limousin  fitted  peculiarl}'  well  into  the  back- 
ground of  troubadour  ideas.     Intermediate  between  the 

174 


Their  Language  i  75 

surrounding  stocks,  they  seemed  to  me  neither  subtle  nor 
dull,  neither  cold  nor  hot-tempered,  but,  as  the  Abbe 
Gorse  has  said,  "  simple,  naive,  sincere,  and  open,"  and 
warm-hearted  besides.  Cheerful  toil  is  the  destiny  of 
such  a  folk,  and  the  people  of  Limousin  are  notably 
toilers.  Most  of  them  remain  at  home,  stirring  the  earth 
of  their  native  hills  and  thinking  at  odd  moments  of  the 
rentier,  the  man  who  lives  at  ease  on  his  income,  as  a  sort 
of  divinit}-,  enviable  but  of  another  world  ;  yet  not  a  few 
journey  to  distant  Paris,  and  enliven  the  docks  and  yards 
with  crimson  sashes  and  trousers  of  blue  velours. 

There  is  another  reason  for  interest  in  the  people  of  this 
region, — their  language.  For  centuries  the  dialect  of 
Limousin  has  been  ridiculed.  Rabelais  and  Moliere  made 
fun  of  it  ;  and  when  a  Limousinian  member  of  the  Parle- 
ment  demanded  sceptically  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  :  "  What  lan- 
guage do  your  'Voices'  speak?"  she  silenced  him  by 
retorting,  "  A  better  one  than  yours."  But  this  homely 
idiom  anticipated  its  revenge,  for  it  was  the  classic  speech 
of  the  troubadours  ;  and  the  patois  of  our  dinner-table  at 
Egletons,  alone  among  all  the  dialects  of  the  Midi,  can  be 
traced  by  settled  phonetic  principles  back  to  that  honored 
tongue.' 

The  name  "  Provencal,"  which  we  now  give  the  "  lan- 
guage ' '  of  the  troubadours,  has  been  adopted  for  the 
same  reason  as  the  name  ' '  Provence  ' '  for  the  region 
where  they  sprang  up,  and  is  equally  incorrect.  In  the 
first  place  there  was  no  Provencal  lAJtgjiage,  for  what  we 
call  such  was  only  one  of  a  vast  number  of  idioms  de- 
scended from  the  Latin,  and  hardly  distinguishable  from 
the  rest  ^  ;  and  in  the  second  place  it  was  not  Provencal. 
To  the  troubadours  themselves  their  speech  was ' '  Roman, ' ' 
or  "  Lengua  Romana,'"  but  that  is  too  broad  a  term,  for  it 
covered  all  the  New-Latin  dialects.  ' '  Langue  d'  Oc  "  it  has 
been  called  by  Dante  and  by  many  since  his  time  ;  but  the 


1  76  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

old  notion  that  northern  France  used  the  language  of  Oil 
and  southern  France  the  language  of  Oc  was  entirely  too 
arbitrary,  since  the  dialects  merely  shaded  into  each  other. 

Raimon  Vidal  of  Bezaudun  or  Besalu,  in  the  north  of 
Catalonia,  prepared  a  work  during  the  first  half  of  the  thir- 
teenth century  to  assist  his  fellow-countr^'men  in  writing 
the  tongue  of  the  troubadours "  ;  and  he  began  by  saying 
that  the  true  fashion  of  speech  was  set  by  the  people  of 
Limousin  and  its  vicinity,  for  all  of  this  region  were  bred 
up  to  speak  correctly.  Others  adopted  the  term,  and  the 
name  "  Iviniousinian  "  came  to  be  long  and  widel}-  used. 

It  was  not  without  reason  that  Vidal  distinguished  this 
region  so  notably.  For  some  reason  its  idiom  was  well 
developed  and  gained  a  reputation  for  elegance  at  a  very 
early  time,  and  we  find  the  first  of  the  troubadours  em- 
ploying it  for  his  compositions,  though  it  was  not  his 
mother  tongue.  A  number  of  the  earliest  and  most 
famous  of  his  successors  were  natives  of  this  region — 
particularly  Bernart  de  Ventadorn — and  added  to  its  dis- 
tinction ^  ;  and  younger  poets  who  desired  praise  naturalh' 
chose  it  as  the  most  approved  idiom.  In  the  cour.se  of 
time  this  local  dialect  became  the  conventional  tongue  of 
literature,  and  there  existed  a  difference  between  the 
literary  speech  and  most  of  the  spoken  idioms  resembling 
that  in  ancient  Rome  or  in  modern  Japan  and  Greece. 
So  the  usage  of  the  troubadours  did  for  the  speech  of 
picturesque  lyimousin  what  Luther  did  for  High  German 
and  Dante  for  Tuscan  ;  and  although  every  district  had  a 
similar  idiom  of  its  own,^  we  should  often  find  it  difficult 
or  even  impossible  to  decide  from  his  compositions  in 
what  region  a  poet  was  born. 

"  Bastard  Latin,"  like  his  loved  Italian,  is  what  Byron 
would  have  called  this  tongue.  Its  parent  was  the 
language  of  the  Roman  conquerors,"  not  those  who  mar- 
shalled the  armies  and  wrote  of  their  deeds,  but  the  hum- 


Their  Language 


1 


/  / 


bier  men  who  marched  and  fought,  administered  the 
details  of  local  government,  and  carried  among  the  people 
day  b}^  day  the  industries  and  the  merchandise  of  the  new 
civilization. 

Never  a  ver}'  perfect  language  this  tongue  of  the  plebeian 
and  unlettered  Romans,  the  ser/no  plcbeius,  became  in  the 
course  of  centuries  more  imperfect  still.  More  and  more 
the  people  forgot  the  inflectional  endings  which  indicated 
the  relations  of  nouns,  for  instance,  initil  the  exact  mean- 
ing of  a  sentence  was  often  very  uncertain.  Then  the 
endings  were  purposely  dropped  and  prepositions  em- 
ploj^ed  in  a  new  way  to  supply  their  place  :  instead  of 
vianus  they  said  de  la  man,  and  so  the  language  became 
analytic  instead  of  synthetic.  At  the  same  time,  as  the 
endings  fell  away,  the  accent  of  words  came  to  rest  in 
general  upon  the  last  syllable.  Little  by  little  people 
adopted  new  ways  of  pronouncing  their  language,  too,  as 
we  should  do  now  if  our  dictionaries  and  other  standards 
did  not  anchor  us.  In  this  way  all  the  "Romance" 
tongues  were  formed  and  among  them  "  Provencal," — 
perhaps,  as  Hueffer  calls  it,  the  most  difficult  of  them  all, 
and  certain!}-  the  first  that  had  a  literary  qualit3\ 

Very  different  was  it  from  the  French  that  you  are 
familiar  with — that  keen,y^';/,  flashing  instrument  of  the 
Parisian  mind,  artificially  made  of  set  purpose  by  the 
French  Academj-, — such  a  thing  as  that  would  never  have 
grown  up  among  the  simple,  easy  folk  of  Limousin. 
Italian,  "  which  sounds  as  if  it  should  be  writ  on  satin," 
resembles  it  more.  In  both  we  find  the  same  lack  of 
positiveness.  Each  possesses,  for  example,  a  multitude 
of  personal  words.  Both  the  idioms  are  forever  evading 
responsibility,  instead  of  boldly  proclaiming  /,  yon,  he,  as 
we  are  accu.stomed  to  do  ;  and  the  battle  of  Muret  has  the 
same  explanation  as  the  centuries  of  Italian  vassalage, — 
personal  pronouns. 


178  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

But  this  very  lack  of  positiveness  gave  the  speech  of  the 
troubadours  a  peculiar,  an  extraordinary  charm.  A  scold- 
ing in  Provencal  can  have  left  but  little  smart  behind. 
Soft  and  easy  fell  the  words  like  the  drops  of  a  fountain. 
And,  as  the  very  syntax  of  Hebrew  fitted  it  to  express  the 
boundless,  vague,  and  mysterious  ideas  of  religion,  the 
Limousinian — which  we  call  the  Provencal — naive  and 
liquid,  gentle,  melodious,  and  flexible,  sings  best  of  all 
the  poetry  of  spring  and  of  love. 

Born  of  the  Limousinian  stock  that  we  have  just  been 
studying,  and  thinking  from  infancy  in  the  idiom  we  have 
tried  to  understand,  Bernart  de  Ventadorn  had  still  an- 
other gift  of  nature  to  make  him  the  typical  troubadour, — 
his  temperament  lay  wholly  within  the  circle  of  troubadour 
ideas  ;  and  so,  feeling  no  limitation  himself,  he  giv^es  his 
readers  the  impression  of  none.  Three  ideas — love,  joy, 
and  song — occupied  all  his  powers,  and  these  three  were 
summed  up  in  one, — woman. 

The  basis  of  his  thought,  his  feeling,  and  his  poetry  was 
the  natural  world  ;  for,  on  the  higher  plane  of  humanity, 
he  was  as  truly  a  piece  of  nature  as  the  pine  that  shaded 
him,  or  the  nightingale  that  sang  in  his  ears.  To  be 
sure,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the  world  had  not  yet  dis- 
covered the  modern,  sentimental  power  of  projecting 
fancies  and  emotions  into  unconscious  things  :  Words- 
worth was  far  away.  But  as  romantic  love,  the  most 
personal  of  feelings,  had  come  into  human  experience,  the 
purely  objective  attitude  of  the  ancients  toward  nature 
could  not  remain  unchanged.  The  sympathetic  tone  be- 
gan to  be  heard  ;  and  Bernart,  a  pioneer  in  this  departure, 
was  the  nearest  of  all  the  troubadours  to  ourselves. 
"  Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,"  and  "  Ye  banks  and  braes," 
while  they  cannot  quite  be  equalled  by  poems  of  his,  can 
at  least  be  paralleled,  as  we  see  from  the  first  of  the  songs 


VOL.  II.  — 12. 


Bernart  de  Ventadorn  179 

that  he  sang  a  little  while  ago,  and  the  beginning  of  a  poem 
that  will  soon  appear  is  an  example  almost  in  the  modern 
spirit.  About  one  half  of  his  pieces  open  with  a  nature- 
scene,  and  these  passages  were  bj'  no  means,  as  they  were 
with  some  poets,  merely  in  obedience  to  a  fashion.  Every- 
where the  same  temper  is  either  visible  or  latent  ;  and 
though  such  language  does  not  seem  wonderful  or  sur- 
prising to  us,  we  must  remember  that  in  its  day  it  had  the 
novelt}'  of  genius. 

Further,  as  he  was  full  of  life  himself  and  of  a  temper 
essentially  happy,  it  was  the  blithe  and  hearty  side  of 
creation  that  appealed  to  him.  "  All  that  is,"  he  cried, 
"  all  that  is  gives  itself  up  to  joy,  and  chants  and  sings 
aloud, — fields  and  parks  and  gardens,  valley,  plain,  and 
wood."  Sadness  he  often  felt  and  could  express  with 
vivid  figures, — the  withering  foliage,  the  cold  and  storm}- 
days,  the  ship  tossing  in  the  waves,  the  fish  struggling  on 
the  hook,  the  victim  consumed  by  flames  ;  but  his  songs 
of  joy  and  exultation  were  more  spontaneous  and  more 
original,  and  in  this  mood  his  thoughts  dwelt  lovingly  on 
the  gentle  springtime,  the  clear,  bright  weather,  the  soft 
green  of  the  fields,  the  tender  verdure  of  the  boughs,  the 
swelling  buds,  the  blossoms  opening  behind  the  leaves, 
the  many-colored  flowers,  and  the  gay  little  birds — long 
silent— that  began  to  sing  again  in  the  trees. 

But  all  this  was  only  the  background,  and  upon  it  he 
painted  the  feelings  and  the  thoughts  of  the  lover  in  hues 
the  truest,  the  freshest,  the  most  varied  that  a  poet  has 
ever  used.  Here,  transmuted  into  thought  and  sentiment, 
we  find  again  the  color  and  perfume  of  the  rose,  the  music 
of  the  nightingale,  and  the  genial  splendor  of  the  May- 
day sky.  Often  he  is  tender,  often  vivacious,  often  pas- 
sionate, sometimes  despairing,  sometimes  impatient  or 
complaining,  but  always  real,  and  always  moving.  It 
was  the  axiom  of  his  art  that  a  song  had  no  value  unless 


i8o  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

it  were  dictated  by  sincere  emotion  ;  and  on  the  other  side 
his  nature  was  so  possessed  with  intuitive  art  that  emotion 
always  expressed  itself  with  ingenuit}^  discretion,  and 
grace.  Of  course  he  was  neither  a  scholar  nor  a  philoso- 
pher ;  but  he  knew  something  of  Latin  poetry,  and  while 
sentiment  was  the  burden  of  his  singing,  it  gained  shape 
and  force  from  apt  ideas, — neither  too  few  nor  too  man 3% 
neither  too  elevated  nor  too  homely.  One  of  his  most 
attractive  qualities  was  an  occasional  mingling  of  earnest- 
ness and  playfulness  peculiar  to  himself ;  and  beneath  all 
his  other  qualities  we  catch  glimpses  of  a  childlike  sim- 
plicit)^  and  an  instinctive  piety  that  reach  the  deepest 
sympathies  of  our  hearts. ' 

A  comparison  with  Folquet  de  ^Iar.seilla  will  bring  his 
qualities  into  relief.  The  one  studies  originality,  the 
other  has  it.  The  one  cares  especially  for  form,  the 
other  for  substance.  The  one  prefers  to  excite  surprise 
and  admiration,  the  other  to  win  confidence  and  affection. 
Folquet  greets  us  with  an  individuality  that  we  find 
laboriously  constructed  of  conceits,  scholastic  subtleties, 
logical  contradictions,  and  emotional  affectations  ;  Bernart 
approaches  with  a  genial  openness  in  which  on  after- 
thought we  discover  profound  insight,  deep  reflection, 
genuine  wit,  and  a  power  of  expression  so  eas}-  as  well- 
nigh  to  elude  observation.  The  first  seems  brilliant  by 
drying  up  the  springs  of  thought  ;  the  second,  avoiding 
all  display,  supplies  the  world  with  new  moulds  of  senti- 
ment and  new  forms  of  thought,  so  truly  fitted  to  human 
nature  as  to  become  the  commonplaces  of  later  generations. 
Folquet  seeks  only  to  get  and  acquire,  but  Bernart  pours 
forth  a  wealth  of  real  and  spontaneous  feeling,  free,  deli- 
cate, uncalculated,  and  full  of  luxuriant  fanc}-,  in  which 
every  mood  of  love  appears  before  our  e3^es  as  vivid  as  it 
lived  in  him, — the  first  joy,  the  growing  attachment,  the 
full  devotion,  the  ardent  pa.ssion,  the  bitter-sweet  of  long- 


HE  COURTYARD,  VENTADOUR. 


i8i 


Bernart  dc  \  entadorn  183 

iiig,  hope,  languor,  anxiety,  enthusiasm,  doubts  and  fears, 
joy,  disappointment,  grief,  despair,  and  renunciation  ; 
and  all  this  has  the  accompaniment  of  pictures  alwa3'S 
fresh  and  lifelike,  of  music  that  flows  on  and  on, — melo- 
dious, unstudied,  and  responsive,  and  of  sayings  that 
epitomize  here  and  there  in  points  of  light  the  essential 
nature  of  love  itself/ 

That  such  a  poet,  who  was  also  man  and  courtier, 
should  captivate  and  overpower  Lady  Margarida  is  not 
surprising,  as  I  said  before  °  ;  but  even  he  was  not  able  to 
retain  his  prize.  For  a  time,  indeed,  Eble — with  that 
confident  air  of  his — went  on  supposing  that  Bernart's 
mistress  was  some  lady  of  the  neighborhood,  but  finally 
he  became  aware  of  the  truth.  Then,  with  a  consideration 
that  is  amazing  unless  the  poet  had  some  peculiar  standing 
at  Ventadorn,  he  merely  turned  his  favor  awaj^  from  the 
lover — "  made  himself  a  stranger  to  him  " — but  put  the 
lad}^  into  close  confinement,  and  even,  as  it  would  seem, 
used  personal  violence. 

Bernart  sang  to  cheer  her  captivity  :  "  God  save  and 
keep  from  harm  my  Fair-to-See  !  Hers  I  am,  whether  far 
or  near.  God  save  my  lady,  my  Fair-to-See  !  Mine  is  all 
that  I  have  desired,  and  nothing  else  do  I  ask."  With 
affectionate  pleading  he  prayed  her  to  be  faithful  :  "  You 
cannot  grieve  more  than  I  do,  for  I  know  that  5'ou  suffer 
because  of  me  ;  but  take  care  that  if  the  jealous  husband 
beat  3^our  body  his  blows  reach  not  your  heart." 

Margarida,  in  the  dungeon  of  the  tower  where  we  saw 
her  so  beautifully  lodged  above,  had  ver}'  different  feelings. 
Wh}'  did  not  the  troubadour  go  away  and  leave  her  ? 
She  bade  him  go  ;  but  he  remained  instead  ;  and  now  see 
what  he  has  done !  Here  is  she,  in  disgrace  and  in  prison ; 
and  who  could  tell  what  is  to  become  of  her  ?  Not  love 
but  resentment  occupied  her  thoughts  ;  and  she  sent  word 
to  Bernart  ' '  that  he  should  depart  and  go  far  away  from 


184  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

all  that  region."  '"  Bernart  could  only  obey  and  go. 
Violent  joys  had  their  violent  end,  as  their  wont  is  ;  and 
the  first  period  of  the  poet's  life,  the  morning  of  his  day 
of  love,  was  over. 

But  if  all  's  well  that  seems  to  end  well,  there  was  no 
occasion  for  tears  after  all.  Eble  was  dishonored,  Mar- 
garida  repudiated,  and  Bernart  exiled  ;  but  the  lord  mar- 
ried again,"  the  lady  got  a  count  instead  of  a  viscount  for 
a  husband,'-'  and  the  poet  soon  had  a  queen  to  adore  in 
the  place  of  a  viscountess. 

For  a  time,  indeed — much  longer  than  Alargarida — 
Bernart  seems  to  have  been  unconsoled,'^  but  in  three  or 
four  years  we  find  him  at  the  court  of  Normandy.  It  was 
a  wonderful  woman  who  became  his  "  Comfort,"  as  he 
called  her,  there,  Eleanor,"  Duchess  of  Aquitaine,  had 
been  married  to  Louis  VII.,  the  king  of  France,  by  the 
arrangement  of  her  father,  but  found  for  her  own  part  that 
she  wished  "  a  man,  not  a  monk,"  for  husband.  The 
brilliant  Henr}-  of  Anjou,  Duke  of  Normandy,  though 
younger  than  herself,  was  more  to  her  mind  ;  and  as  soon 
as  her  divorce  was  pronounced  she  bestowed  upon  him 
both  her  person  and  her  vast  possessions.  Gallantry  was, 
however,  an  instinct  of  her  famih%  and  poetry  as  well. 
Gay,  spirited,  and  in  the  height  of  her  beaut}',  she  easily 
found  room  in  her  heart  for  two  ;  Bernart,  still  smarting — 
it  would  seem — from  his  misfortune  at  Ventadorn,  was 
kindly  received,  and  before  long  he  found  in  Eleanor  a 
new  theme  and  a  new  passion.'^ 

But  his  gladness  was  not  without  clouds.  The  follow- 
ing year  Henr}-  became  the  king  of  England  ;  and  as  he 
understood  perfectly  all  the  wiles  of  lovers  he  took  Bernart 
along,  it  is  thought,  when  he  crossed  the  Channel  to  as- 
sume his  new  power.  But  the  poet  carried  with  him  a 
hope — even  a  promise — and  at  the  peril  of  the  king's  dis- 
pleasure he  seems  to  have  slipped  back  across  the  water 


Bernart  and  Queen  Eleanor  i<S5 

to  the  side  of  Eleanor.  Henry  tried  to  recall  him,  but  in 
vain.  He  followed  him  then  to  Normandy,  and  this  time 
carried  away  the  lady  instead.  At  Christmas  (1154) 
Henry  and  Eleanor  went  over  to  be  crowned  and  Bernart 
was  left  behind,  awaiting  an  invitation  to  rejoin  them, 
and  burning  meanwhile  with  a  fever  of  mingled  exultation 
and  impatience. 

So  filled  with  happiness  am  I 
P^arth  wears  another  face  ; 
Rich  flowers  of  nianj'  a  brilliant  dye 

For  me  the  frost  displace  ; 
When  rains  descend  and  tempests  fly. 

My  joy  bnt  gains  in  grace, — 
They  only  help  my  song  rise  high, 
My  glory  mount  apace  ; 
For  in  my  loving  heart 
So  sweetly  joy  doth  start. 
Meseems  the  flowers  make  ice  depart, 
To  verdure  snow  give  place. 

My  garments  I  could  all  unlace 
And  winter's  harshness  dare. 
For  burning  love  my  strength  would  brace 

Against  the  bitter  air  ; 
Yet  they  but  earn  the  fool's  disgrace, 

Who  self-control  forbear, 
And  this  is  very  near  my  case. 
And  hence  my  grievous  care  ; 
The  Peerless  tries  my  heart 
Who  might  instead  impart, 
Richer  than  gold  in  Frisian  mart, 
A  wealth  beyond  compare. 

Her  heart  she  yields  me  not, — my  Fair, 

Yet  token  grants  she  me, 
That  something  hath  been  conquered  there 

As  like  love  as  could  be  ; 
And  such  delightful  hopes  prepare 

My  eyes  her  face  to  see, 


i86  The  Troubadours  at   I  lome 

That  I  am  sure  complete  despair 
Is  not  my  destiny  ; 

Toward  her — so  fond  my  heart — 
My  thoughts  fly  like  a  dart, 
Yet  love  and  I  must  dwell  apart, 
Since  far  from  France  is  she. 

So  rich  the  hoped  felicity, 

Compared  with  what  I  gain, 
I  only  rise  to  sink  alee 

Like  ships  upon  the  main  ; 
From  present  woe  to  get  me  free 

I  seek  escape  in  vain  ; 
All  night  in  anxious  misery 
I  writhe  and  toss  in  pain  ; 
The  pangs  that  wring  my  heart 
Are  more  than  Tristan's  smart, 
When,  forced  from  blonde  Yseult  to  part, 
His  soul  was  rent  in  twain. 

O  God,  were  I  a  bird !  I  'd  fain 
Across  the  earth  take  flight, 
And  ere  the  stars  of  night  should  wane 

By  her  would  I  alight ; 
Your  lover  for  your  love  is  slain, 

Fair  lady,  gay  and  bright ; 
No  heart  can  long  such  woe  contain, — 
Soon  mine  will  break  outright ; 
Before  your  love  my  heart 
Adores,  and  stands  apart ! 
Alas,  fair  form,  fresh  cheeks,  your  art 
Hath  brought  me  grievous  blight  ! 

For  nothing  else  can  give  delight, 

Of  nothing  else  I  dream  ; 
'T  is  bliss  if  one  but  speak  or  write 

A  word  on  this  dear  theme, — 
At  once  my  face  is  all  alight. 

Though  small  the  word  might  seem. 
And  that  I  can  be  glad  and  light, 

You  'd  see  by  that  quick  gleam  ; 


Bernart  and  Queen  Eleanor  187 

Such  love  fills  up  my  heart 
That  often  tears  do  start, 
And  to  my  sighs  these  tears  impart 
A  savor  more  supreme. 

Haste,  messenger,  depart  ; 
Go  tell  her  peerless  heart, 
M}-  woeful  pain  and  smart 
A  martyr  would  beseem." 

This  was  the  noon  of  Bernart' s  day  of  love.  His  affec- 
tions, if  not  dewy,  were  still  young,  for  he  was  not  yet 
qtiite  thirt}'  j'cars  of  age,  as  we  reckon  ;  and  all  his  facul- 
ties were  ke3'ed  to  their  utmost,  as  well  they  might  be,  in  the 
service  of  a  brilliant  woman  who  was  also  a  great  queen. 
To  Eleanor  were  addressed  the  larger  number  of  his  finest 
songs  ;  and  while  the  same  qualities  had  alread}-  appeared 
at  Ventadorn,  in  singing  to  her  as  a  trtie  poet,  as  a  true 
lover,  as  a  subject,  and  as  a  pensioner,  Bernart  infused 
into  his  verse  a  passion,  a  devotion,  a  delicacy,  and  a 
deference  that  shone  as  a  great  and  unheard-of  splendor 
before  a  half-barbarous  world,  and  as  we  shall  see  became 
a  beacon-light  in  the  literarj^  history  of  mankind. 

Btit  the  invitation  to  visit  England  was  vainly  awaited, 
— perhaps  the  king  forbade  it.  A  year  or  two  of  hope  de- 
ferred seems  to  have  chilled  Bernart' s  love,  and  probably 
(1156  or  1 157)  he  attempted — though  with  no  success — to 
rekindle  the  flame  in  Margarida's  heart.  Wearied  by  his 
failures,  he  then  abandoned  love  and  gallantry  for  a  time. 
The  queen  meanwhile  became  offended  ;  and  when  we 
discern  or  think  we  discern  the  troubadotir  landing  in  an 
English  port  (1158),  he  seems  to  pause  uncertain  what 
reception  will  be  given  him.  Still,  he  went  forward  ap- 
parently, and  became  in  a  sense  the  first  poet-laureate  of 
Britain,  for  he  once  told  Henry  that  for  his  sake  he  be- 
came English  as  well  as  Norman.  Whether  Eleanor 
loved  him  still,  we  cannot  say;  but  at  all  events  he  seems 


1 88  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

to  have  thought  longingly  at  times  of  his  lost  Margarida, 
and  in  the  shadows  of  this  uncertainty  we  find  the  noon- 
daj'  of  his  life  already  past. 

Evening  was  upon  him,  and  of  this  we  know  still  less. 
Few  of  his  poems  can  be  as.signed  with  confidence  to  this 
period,  but  it  seems  prett}-  clear  that  he  addressed  at  least 
one  song  to  Ermengarda  of  Narbonne,'"  the  patroness  of 
Peire  Rogier.  Toulouse  and  the  palace  of  "  the  good 
count,"  Raimon  V.,  became  his  home.  There  he  lived  in 
great  honor,  no  doubt,  meeting  the  poets  who  thronged 
the  court, — Peire  Rogier,  Folquet,  Raimon  de  Miraval, 
Peire  Vidal,  and  many  more,  and  from  that  abiding-place 
he  probabl}^  journej^ed  here  and  there, — apparently  to 
Spain  on  the  south  and  to  Provence  on  the  east.  Then 
after  man}-  years  Raimon  died  ( 1 194)  ;  and  Bernart,  almost 
threescore  and  ten,  felt  it  was  time  to  prepare  for  rest. 

Westward  a  two-days'  journej-  from  Ventadour  lies  the 
vale  of  Dalon,"  walled  in  by  the  low  mountains  of  Peri- 
gord.  There,  in  the  midst  of  grassy  meadows  girt  about 
with  forests,  a  Cistercian  abbej-  buried  in  silence — "  a 
silence  deep  as  that  of  night" — reared  its  peaceful  and 
hospitable  walls.  Autafort,  the  castle  of  Bertran  de  Born, 
was  less  than  two  leagues  distant  across  the  hills  ;  and 
much  nearer,  even  within  the  reach  of  weary  feet,  the 
dark  lake  of  Born  slumbered  amid  the  .shadows  of  the 
wood,  or  woke  in  placid  surprise  as  a  hunted  stag,  plung- 
ing from  the  cover,  broke  the  spell  of  sleep. 

Here  came  Bernart  when  the  day  of  life  was  closing,  as 
the  day  of  love  had  closed  long  before.'"  All  for  whom  he 
cared  had  left  the  world,  and  he,  too,  was  fain  to  go  ;  yet 
he  was  not  alone,  for  the  dear  forms  of  those  he  had  cher- 
ished peopled  a  world  of  memory  within,  as  the  beeches 
around  the  lake  were  answered  by  softer  beeches  beneath 
its  tranquil  face.     Dreams  were  still  his,  as  in  the  3-outh 


Bernart  de  Ventadorn 


189 


so  far  distant, — dreams  of  love  as  then,  and  with  each  new 
day  they  seemed  more  near.  Ivach  new  day  the  joys  were 
cahner,  each  new  day  the  griefs  less  keen  ;  until  after  no 


RUINS  OF  THE  ABBEY,  DALON. 


long  time  joys  and  griefs  were  blended  for  ever  in  a  dream 
that  was  pure  content  ;  and  the  brother  monks,  looking 
upon  his  happiness,  crossed  themselves  and  whispered 
reverently,  "  Bernart  de  Ventadorn  is  at  rest." 


XXXIV 
UZERCHE  AND  MALEMORT 

Gaucelm  Faidit, 

THE  woody  mountains  of  Limousin,  running  east  and 
west  and  parting  the  great  vallej^s  of  the  Loire  and 
the  Garonne,  are  too  low  to  be  grand  but  high  enough  to 
be  beautiful. 

Among  the  spurs  to  the  north  rise  the  steeples  of 
Limoges,  while  Mareuil  marks  the  extreme  w^est  and 
Ventadour  the  extreme  east.  Between  these  two  points 
there  is  a  wide  and  picturesque  region — almost  unvisited 
— where  the  hills  are  clothed  with  great  forests  of  chest- 
nut, and  where  impetuous  rivers  wage  an  unceasing  war- 
fare on  haughty  cliffs  and  headlands.  It  was  in  the  midst 
of  this  district  that  Louis  XV.  found  a  spot  beautiful 
enough  to  be  the  residence  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  ; 
and  only  six  or  eight  miles  from  her  castle,  in  a  narrow 
loop  of  the  dark  and  swift  Vezere,  we  discovered  the 
quaint  old  city  of  Uzerche. 

"  Whoever  has  a  house  at  Uzerche  owns  a  castle  in 
Limousin,"  said  the  proverb  ;  and  as  we  stood  beside  the 
river  and  looked  up  at  the  houses  on  the  high  and  pre- 
cipitous hill — many  of  them  very  dark,  but  others  of  daz- 
zling whiteness  bespattered  with  black  windows — we 
found  enough  of  them  crowned  with  towers  and  pointed 
rooflets  of  slate  to  explain  the  saying.  It  was  another 
etching  of  Diirer's  come  to  life. 

190 


Uzerchc 


191 


The  town  has  lately  outgrown  its  ancient  limits  and  the 
busiest  part  is  a  suburb  pushing  out  where  the  tongue  of 
rock  broadens  into  a  plateau.  That  is  where  the  team- 
sters go  ;  but  we,  reactionaries  that  we  are,  turn  sharply 
back  at  the  summit  of  the  endless  incline  and  follow  a 
narrow  street  along  the  ridge  of  the  isthmus.  One  of  the 
mediaeval  gateways  has  been  demolished,  but  the  other  is 
on  duty  still.  Passing  through  it,  we  invade  the  peninsula 
of  the  old  town,  and  presentlj'  are  surrounded  by  turreted 
roofs,  carved  doors,  overhanging  chambers,  and  stairways 
of  stone  hollowed  b}^  the 
feet  of  uncounted  genera- 
tions,— an  epitome  of  do- 
mestic architecture  from 
the  twelfth  century  to 
the  seventeenth.  A  little 
farther  on  is  the  Square, 
vacant  and  sonorous. 
A  pair  of  nodding  women 
drowse  in  the  shade  of 
a  wall  with  baskets  of 
cherries  beside  them.  A 
girl  balances  her  water- 
bucket  a  moment  on  the 
edge  of  the  public  foun- 
tain to  gaze  at  us,  and 
then  rattles  dreamily 
homeward  over  the  cob- 
blestones. Mediaeval  slumbers  lie  heavy  on  the  town, 
but  from  the  opposite  corner  of  the  Square  a  Romanesque 
church,  dark  and  martial  and  flanked  with  towers,  frowns 
upon  us  with  sullen  machicolations.' 

One  spot  appears  to  command  an  outlook,  and  ascend- 
ing to  it  through  the  lonely  H6tel-de-Ville  we  find  our- 
selves on  the  highest  ground  of  Uzerche,  a  little  terrace 


UZERCHE. 


192  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

between  the  H6tel-de-Ville  and  the  church.  On  one  side 
we  overlook  the  Square  and  strong  lines  of  turrets,  roofs, 
and  chimneys  like  the  features  of  a  grim  old  face.  On 
the  other,  sitting  down  on  the  bit  of  parapet,  we  discov^er 
that  the  castellated  mansions  are  now  below  us.  Far  be- 
5'ond  them  we  look  down  upon  the  eddies  and  islets  of  the 
Vezere,  the  natural  moat  of  the  stronghold,  and — over 
against  us  on  the  other  side — upon  the  abounding  verdure 
of  comfortable  green  hills. 

Spring  is  in  full  tide,  and  the  locust  trees  above  our 
heads,  which  have  grown  up  and  flourished  in  spite  of  the 
trodden  soil,  appear  fitly  to  represent  the  spirit  of  the 
season.  Strange  comrades  they  seem  for  the  cross  of 
rusty  iron,  and  the  weather-stained  monument  reared  to 
the  glories  of  the  French  Revolution.  But  these  also 
stand  for  spring.  The}-,  too,  represent  life  bursting 
through  trodden  soil  and  working  on  and  upward  through 
crudeness  and  hardness  to  a  free,  unhindered  dev'elop- 
nient.  And,  right  here  in  Uzerche,  the  same  principle 
was  represented  long  ago  in  another  form  no  easier  to 
understand  at  first  sight  than  the  excesses  of  the  Rev- 
olution. 

At  the  time  when  Bernart  de  Ventadorn  was  growing 
old  but  most  of  the  other  troubadours  we  have  met  were 
in  song  (about  1 174)  ^  3'ou  might  have  seen  lounging  in 
the  Square  below  a  young  fellow  of  eighteen,  singularly 
attractive  and  singularly  repellent,  evidently  ready  to  flirt 
with  any  girl  that  passed  or  throw  dice  with  anj^  man. 
The  upper  half  of  his  face  resembled  a  woman's,  the  lower 
part  reminded  one  of  a  pig.  His  lips,  thick  and  protruding 
in  the  middle,  grew  rapidly  thin  towards  the  ends,  and  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  drooped  .surprisingh'.  His  nose, 
style  Francois  Premier,  was  extremely  long,  straight,  and 
sharp  ;  but  a  subtle  moulding  at  the  point  made  it  suggest 
the  keenness  of  animal  scent  after  animal  pleasures  far 


THE   GATEWAY   OF   UZERCHE. 


193 


Gaucelm  Faidit  195 

more  than  intellectual  acuteness.  The  pallor  of  his  cheeks 
was  belied  by  a  large  and  vigorous  ph3-sique  ;  but  on  the 
other  hand  a  swaggering  walk  gave  close  observers  an  im- 
pression of  half-conscious  weakness  rather  than  of  con- 
scious power/ 

Delicate  sensibilities  bound  up  with  indelicate  propensi- 
ties,— this  was  the  legend  of  his  person,  and  this  we  shall 
find  the  story  of  his  life  also,  for  the  young  fellow  was 
Gaucelm  Faidit,  qualifying  himself  with  vices  and  accom- 
plishments for  the  profession  of  joglar.  The  next  week, 
in  another  desperate  endeavor  to  win  back  some  of  the 
mone}'  lost  in  gaming,  he  threw  away  the  rest  of  the 
property  left  him  by  his  industrious  burgher  father,  and 
then  perforce  his  career  opened. 

The  joglars  are  already  pretty  familiar  figures  to  us. 
Descended  as  we  shall  see  from  Roman  times,  the}-  were 
always  the  popular  as  the  troubadours  w^ere  the  aristo- 
cratic artists.  Roving  about,  sometimes  in  bands  or 
couples  and  sometimes  one  by  one,  the}'  lived  a  life  pe- 
culiar to  themselves, — a  homeless,  happ3-go-luck3',  beg- 
garh^  crew.  The  camp,  the  tavern,  the  city  square,  and 
the  baron's  kitchen  were  their  favorite  resorts.  Often 
merr)'  and  abounding,  they  fell  the  next  day  into  miserj- 
and  even  actual  distress.  Worse  yet,  such  vagabonds 
were  thought  beyond  the  pale  of  law  ;  and  in  the  earlier 
times,  at  least,  if  one  w^ere  struck  his  only  legal  satisfac- 
tion was  to  strike  a  similar  blow  at  the  shadow  of  his 
persecutor.  Of  course  they  w^ere  disorderly,  reckless, 
and  importunate.  Probably  but  one  text  of  Scripture 
was  ever  found  in  their  mouths  :  "  It  is  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive,"  but  that  was  repeated  often  enough 
to  do  for  all  the  rest.  ' '  Which  would  you  rather  be, ' '  it 
was  actually  queried,  "  a  joglar  or  a  robber?  "  and  the 
answer  was,  ' '  A  robber. ' '     Two  by  two  they  went  about, 


196  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

says  the  troubadour  Peire  de  la  Mula/  crying  vocifer- 
ousl}^  "  Give  to  me,  for  I  am  a  joglar."  Their  appear- 
ance doubtless  answered  to  their  character,  and  we  find 
Vidal  enjoining  strictly  upon  one  of  them  to  dress  decently, 
to  be  especially  careful  about  his  shoes  and  stockings,  and 
to  wear  a  dagger,  a  purse,  and  a  pair  of  gloves  in  his  belt. 
In  a  word,  the  old  New  England  expression  "  drunken 
fiddler  ' '  pictures  well  enough  the  character  of  the  ordi- 
nary joglars. 

Their  accomplishments  were  more  varied,  however,  than 
a  fiddler's,  and  anticipated  pretty  closeh^  our  "  variety  " 
stage.  Exhibitions  of  trained  monkeys  and  dogs  and  of 
marionettes,  imitations  of  birds,  dancing,  tumbling,  jump- 
ing through  hoops,  juggling,  and  feats  of  dexterity — par- 
ticularly catching  small  apples  on  the  points  of  two  knives 
at  the  same  time, — tricks  like  these  won  applause  and 
deniers  for  those  of  the  lower  class.  The  joglar  was  often 
a  contortionist  also,  and  the  wonder  excited  by  feats  of 
this  kind  is  recorded  in  a  Latin  poem  :  "  He  folds  him- 
self and  unfolds  himself,  and  in  unfolding  himself  he 
folds  himself"  Telling  stories  and  singing  narrative 
poems  were  the  arts  of  another  class  ;  and  the  well 
equipped  entertainer  had  on  his  tongue  an  incredible 
number  of  tales  and  poems,  besides  all  the  theories  of  love. 
Another  main  resource  was  instrumental  music.  As  we 
have  seen,  the  joglars  played  at  dances,  dinners,  and  fes- 
tivities of  every  sort,  each  endeavoring  to  outdo  the  rest, 
and  often  creating,  as  at  the  wedding  of  Flamenca,  an  in- 
describable uproar.  ' '  Drunken  fiddlers  ' '  that  the}'  were 
—most  of  them — they  were  always  ready  to  tickle  the 
ears  of  the  rabble  in  the  streets  ;  but  at  the  other  end  of 
the  scale  their  musical  accomplishments  allied  them  with 
our  courtly  and  fastidious  troubadours. " 

Author  and  publisher,  playwright  and  actor,  composer 
and  performer,  always  go  together.     Boccaccio  tells  us 


The  JoL;-lars 


197 


that  Dante  loved  to  associate  with  musicians  who  could 
write  melodies  for  his  verse  ;  and  the  famous  troubadours, 
rarely  condescending  to  play  their  own  accompaniments, 
occasionally  not  gifted  with  agreeable  voices,  and  at  most 


HARPS. 


SALTERI. 


THE    ORQANISTRUM. 


VIOLS. 


reaching  personally  but  a  limited  circle,  needed  the  joglar 
to  supplement  their  own  efforts  and  make  their  songs  more 
widely  known  ;  and  for  this  reason,  though  distinctly  of 
hig-her  caste,  thev  found  it  worth  their  while  to  teach 


igS  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

carefully  the  men  whom  they  took  with  them  on  their 
journeys  or  entrusted  with  their  compositions,  while  on 
the  other  side  the  joglar  found  his  trouble  and  patience 
well  rewarded  when  he  could  open  every  castle  gate  by 
announcing  a  new  song  of  Arnaut's  or  Vidal's.  So  for  a 
double  reason  the  two  castes  were  intimately  associated, 
and  we  find  the  troubadours  devoting  whole  poems  to  the 
duties  of  the  joglars  as  well  as  giving  occasional  directions 
in  many  others/ 

That  brings  us  to  the  question  of  troubadour  nuisic. 
What  was  it  like,  and  how  was  it  rendered  ? 

This  inquiry  is  not  aside  from  our  literary  purpose,  for 
the  music  of  the  troubadours  made  up  fully  one  half  of 
their  art  in  the  opinion  of  the  time.  More  3-et  :  their 
verse  was  in  a  sense  onl}-  their  music  blossoming  into 
speech,  their  melodies  interpreted  in  words  ;  and,  as  we 
must  remember  in  reading  Sidney  Lanier's  poems  that  he 
was  primaril}^  a  musician,  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind 
that  the  verse  of  the  troubadours  was  worked  out  through 
an  exquisite  sensibility  to  music,  just  as  their  ideas  came 
for  the  most  part  by  the  way  of  feeling.  "  Verse  without 
air,"  said  Carbonel,  "  is  like  a  mill  without  water  "  ;  and 
even  Dante  defined  poetry  as  only  rhetorical  fiction  set  to 
music.  Out  of  a  few  ideas  and  images  the  "  divine  art  " 
was  able  to  weave  great  effects,  and  it  is  not  as  poets 
merely,  but  as  masters  of  so?tg-,  combining  words  and 
melod}'  into  a  beautiful  and  artistic  whole,  while  the 
special  priests  of  music,  the  churchmen,  were  giving  the 
art  a  scholastic  and  unattractive  look, — it  is  for  this 
achievement  that  w^e  must  crown  the  troubadours. 

Of  course  these  melodies,  while  they  opened  the  way  to 
the  marvellous  developments  of  modern  music,  are  not 
impressive  to  our  ears  ;  but  on  the  other  hand  the  most 
recent  investigations,  especially  Restori's,  prove  that  they 
were  neither  mere  echoes  of  Arabian  airs,  nor  ignorant 


Their  Music  199 

effusions  of  a  bare  musical  instinct."  Indeed,  how  could 
productions  without  originality  and  value  have  l)een  ad- 
mired by  the  most  cultured  people  in  the  world,  passion- 
ately fond  of  music,  and  familiar  with  the  best  that 
existed  ?  Such  a  view  is  plainly  unreasonable,  and  an 
examination  of  the  music  itself  has  disproved  it. 

A  morsel  of  history  will  explain  the  situation.  Until 
about  the  close  of  the  eleventh  century — that  grand 
mediaeval  springtime — there  existed  two  lines  of  song 
that  were  wholly  distinct, — first,  the  church  music,  almost 
purely  Gregorian  ;  and,  secondl}',  popular  airs — particu- 
larly dances  and  spring-songs  such  as  roving  minstrels 
had  been  singing  from  the  time  of  the  Roman  empire. 
This  popular  music,  supposed  by  no  one  at  that  time  to 
possess  any  true  value,  had  about  the  same  histor}'  in  re- 
lation to  the  mvisic  of  the  Church  as  the  popular  speech 
had  in  relation  to  the  Latin  language  (Chapter  XXXIII.) ; 
and  after  thriving  as  it  could  until  the  twelfth  century  it 
was  then  brought  into  courtl}'  circles  by  men  familiar  with 
technical  rules  and  made  over  into  artistic  forms.  These 
men  were  the  troubadours  *  ;  and  this  is  what  they,  like 
many  great  composers  of  later  times,  accomplished. 

The  degree  of  transformation  varied.  When  the  song 
was  light  and  plaj'ful  the  melody  retained  its  popular 
character  ;  but  often  like  other  parv^enus  it  endeavored  to 
conceal  its  origin,  and  appeared  in  studied  and  even  over- 
elaborated  forms, — more  and  more  as  time  went  on,  and 
particularly  in  the  works  of  Gaucelm  Faidit  and  Folquet 
de  IMarseilla. 

Of  course  the  new  music,  worked  over  by  the  alien 
principles  of  the  church  st3'le,  suffered  .somewhat,  and  it 
suffered  also  from  having  to  be  written  in  the  uncongenial 
notation  of  the  Gregorian  school  ;  but  still  the  advent  of 
such  fresh  and  really  musical  effects  ^  was  nothing  less 
than  a  revolution.     It  was  the  beginning  of  the  modern 


200 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


art  ;  and  the  despised  melodies  of  the  people,  first  caught 
up  by  the  troubadours,  have  grown  into  a  music  that  fills 
the  opera  and  the  concert  hall,  and  for  the  most  part  the 
church  also. 

As  the  troubadours  were  the  composers,  the  joglars  were 
mainl}-  the  interpreters  of  this  new  music  ;  and  their  work 
should  not  go  without  honor.  The  melody  had  to  be 
adapted  to  accents  and  pauses  that  varied  from  stanza  to 
stanza,  and  the  singer  was  expected  to  do  this  himself. 


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FIRST   STANZA   OF    "WHENE'ER    I    SEE,"    PROVENCAL    WORDS   AND    MUSIC." 

The  notation — only  three  kinds  of  notes,'"  no  bars,"  no 
rests,  no  marks  of  expression,  no  sharps,  and  no  flats — 
was  little  more  than  a  hint  ;  and  the  joglar  was  required 
to  feel  out  the  air,  make  it  his  own,  and  from  his  personal 
skill  produce  his  effect.  Ear  and  not  eye  was  his  main 
reliance — oftentimes  his  onl}^  one,  and  he  was  expected  to 
execute  anj^  air  smoothly  after  once  hearing  it. 

Besides  playing  and  singing  melodies,  he  played  ac- 
companiments, but  we  cannot  say  just  how  much  this 
meant.  Perhaps  in  many  cases  it  was  only  the  air  on  an- 
other pitch  ;    perhaps  there   was  also  a  fixed   note,   an 


The  Joglars 


20 1 


organpoint  ;  and  indeed  it  seems  impossible  to  believe 
that  still  more  was  not  done.  Harmony  was  pretty  well 
advanced  in  the  twelfth  centnrw  Conssemaker  says  that 
not  only  the  nnison,  octaves,  fifths,  and  fourths  were 
used,  but  also  thirds  and  sixths,  and  under  certain  con- 
ditions dissonances.  Double  counterpoint  and  imitative 
writing  were  known,  and  there  were  rules  for  the  avoid- 
ance of  consecutive  fifths.  It  does  not  follow  that  the 
joglars  often  ventured  into  such  depths  ;  but  it  seems  very 
possible  that  a  singer's  voice  was  given  harmonic  support, 
and  that  sometimes  an  instrumental  cadenza  followed 
it." 


FORMS    OF    THE    VIOL,    LUTE,    AND    HARP. 


Then,  too,  the  technique  of  their  instrumental  work 
must  be  considered.'^  Of  course  nothing  equal  to  our 
violin  or  'cello  existed,  for  oidy  a  long  evolution  could 
produce  these  marvels  ;  and  instrumental  music  was  only 
a  tinkle  then,  compared  with  that  of  our  day  ;  but  on  the 
other  hand  the  instruments  were  legion  in  number  and 
often  ver}'  nondescript  in  character.  Wiesewetter  shows 
that  Arab  players  had  a  choice  of  over  two  hundred,  and 
with  such  an  example  Christians  could  not  afford  to  be 
illiberal.  Three  of  them  appear  to  have  enjoyed  special 
favor  among  the  troubadours — the  viol,  the  harp,  and  the 
lute,   or  rather  instruments  of  these  families  ;    but  the 


202  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

joglar  was  not  permitted  a  narrow  range  :  he  was  ex- 
pected to  play  at  least  nine. 

Clever  men  we  begin  to  think  them,  but  an  ambitious 
fellow  did  still  more.  First  he  became  a  real  minstrel, 
improvising  tunes  and  finally  composing  melodies  in 
proper  form.  Beginning  in  like  manner  with  impromptu 
verse — loose  and  rambling,  wrestling  "  catch-as-catch- 
can  "  with  the  rhymes,  and  snapping  up  an  idea  as  one 
came  within  reach — he  worked  his  way  up  to  better  art 
and  became  in  the  end  a  troubadour,  a  maker  of  artistic 
song,  though  still  called  by  the  other  name  also,  if  he  con- 
tinued to  cam  a  living  by  his  profession.'* 

But  what  became  of  our  particular  joglar,  the  ruined 
youth  of  Uzerche  ? 

I  have  not  forgotten  him.  For  twenty  long  3^ears  he 
roamed  about  as  an  entertainer,  but  he  gained  little 
money  and  little  fame.  And,  indeed,  this  is  not  surpris- 
ing. He  was  the  worst  singer  alive,  says  his  biograph}-. 
Excess  in  eating  and  drinking  made  him  extremel)-  stout. 
He  took  with  him  from  castle  to  castle  a  handsome  and 
clever  wanton  from  Alais,  who  played  the  Aaron  to  his 
Moses.'"  Finally  he  married  her,  and  she  proceeded  to 
become  as  fat  as  himself.  Such  a  career  was  not  one  to 
gain  him  favor  in  courtly  circles,  and  the  troubadours 
taunted  him  unsparinglj-  with  his  poverty,  his  obscurity, 
and  his  naarriage. '"  It  was  no  doubt  a  wretched  existence 
that  he  led,  as  bad  as  Dr.  Johnson's  early  years  in  London 
and  even  worse.  But  he  was  not  a  mere  ' '  fiddler  ' '  ;  the 
"  root  of  the  matter  "  was  in  him,  and  after  these  trials 
he  emerged  upon  a  higher  plane. 

Three  distinguished  persons  were  chiefly  responsible  for 
the  making  of  the  man.  One  of  them  was  the  noble  mar- 
quis of  Monferrat,  the  patron  of  Raimbaut  de  Vaqueiras, 
who  perceived  the  quality  of  this  rough  diamond,  gave 


Taidit  and  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion 


203 


him  apparel  and  money,  and  set  him  up  in  the  opinion  of 
the  world  (about  1194). 

The  second  was  Richard  "  Cceur-de-Lion.  Peril aps 
Faidit  did  not,  like  Vidal  and  Pons  de  Capduelh,  attach 
himself  to  Richard's  cru- 
sading host,'"  but  at  all 
events  he  became  ac- 
quainted with  him,  and 
received  aid  that  he 
gratefully  acknowledged. 

Acknowledgment  was 
the  more  easy  because 
the  king  of  England  suit- 
ed the  troubadour's  taste 
as  much  as  the  king  of 
France  displeased  it. 
Philippe,  looking  from  a 
window  with  his  cold, 
spotted  eyes  one  day,  saw 
clouds  of  dust  in  the 
streets,  and  calling  for 
the  magistrates  he  or- 
dered the  paving  of  Paris; 
Richard  in  all  his  life  did 
not  devise  so  much  as 
this  one  thing  for  the 
welfare  of  his  people.'" 
But  Philippe  represented 
calculation,  and  Richard 
embodied  impulse  ;  and 
while  the  future  be- 
longed to  the  one,  the  present  fell  to  the  other.  And 
therefore  when  the  archer  on  the  tower  of  Chalus,'"  pluck- 
itig  from  a  cleft  an  arrow  shot  at  him  perhaps  by  Richard's 
own  hand,  sped  it  into  the  king's  body,  and  the  paladin 


•'♦'♦■^  \ 


THE    ROCK    MAUMONT. 


204  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

monarch,  already  a  hero  of  legend  from  the  Caledonian 
glens  to  the  tent-doors  of  Arabia,  fell  upon  the  grey  ledge 
in  the  meadow  called  the  Rock  Maumont,  not  only 
southern  but  northern  France  joined  with  sorrowing 
Faidit  in  his  funeral  hymn." 

'Tis  hard  indeed  that  I  must  be  the  one 
To  tell  the  world  and  tearfully  to  sing 
The  matchless  woe  by  which  I  am  undone, 

Which  I  shall  mourn  with  endless  lamentation  : 
The  father  of  worth,  the  head  of  reputation, 
The  noble  Richard,  England's  glorious  king, 
Is  dead;  O  God,  what  ruin  this  will  bring  ! 

How  strange  it  sounds  !     Whoever  feels  no  smart 
On  hearing  this,  must  have  a  hard,  hard  heart. 

The  king  is  dead  ;  a  thousand  years  the  sun 

Hath  journeyed  on,  and  viewing  everything 
Found  none  like  him,  and  now  it  will  find  none 
So  noble,  generous,  bold,  in  any  nation  ; 
For  Arthur  and  Charles  deserved  less  admiration, 
And  Alexander  did  not  freely  fling 
Such  gifts  to  all,  though  loud  his  praises  ring; 
He  made  men  love  him  with  a  lordly  art. 
Or  else  they  feared  him  like  the  timid  hart. 

I  marvel — seeing  how  careers  are  run — 

That  any  men  to  courtly  wisdom  cling. 
Since  fame  counts  naught,  however  bravely  won  ; 
Why  toil  we,  then,  to  merit  approbation. 
When  Death  makes  clear  his  power  o'er  all  creation? 
For  with  a  blow  we  see  him  murdering 
All  joy  and  fame  from  excellence  that  spring  ; 
Ah  !  since  we  find  that  none  escape  his  dart. 
We  should  not  dread  to  leave  this  weary  mart. 

O  L/ord,  true  man,  true  God,  and  true  salvation, 
Forgive  his  faults !     Let  mercy  draw  the  string 
Of  Richard's  death,  nor  tarry  on  the  wing  ! 

Save  him,  O  Lord  !     He  was  not  slow  to  start 
To  save  your  tomb,  and  well  he  did  his  part.'^- 


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laiSi^i 


THE     ORIGINAL     MUSIC    OF     FAIDIT'S     LAMENT     FOR     RICHARD     CCEUR-DE-LION 

IN    MODERN    NOTATION. 


205 


Faidit  and  Maria  de  Ventadorn  207 

But  the  person  who  did  the  most  for  Gaucehii  Faidit, 
both  for  his  personal  character  and  his  artistic  skill,  was 
neither  a  marquis  nor  a  king,  but  a  woman.  Though 
dowered  by  nature  with  appetites  as  carnal  as  the  Monk's, 
Faidit  had  two  stories  instead  of  one  in  his  house,  for  he 
possessed  the  capacity  to  achieve  something  of  the  higher 
sort,  and  the  aspiration  to  attempt  it  in  earnest.  Love 
was  the  ladder  then,  as  we  have  learned  ;  and  so,  when 
a  woman  able  to  reach  the  depths  of  his  nature  looked 
upon  him,  the  poor  joglar  gave  himself  to  love. 

Ventadorn  was  only  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  distant 
from  Uzerche;  and  Eble  V.,  who  reigned  there  in  the  place 
of  Bernart's  Eble  III.,  had  a  wife  even  more  famous  than 
Margarida.  She,  too,  was  a  daughter  of  Turenne,  and  as 
the  friend  of  Gui  d'Uissel  and  the  Monk  of  Montaudon 
she  has  alread}^  crossed  our  path. 

Certainly  a  remarkable  woman  was  Maria  de  Venta- 
dorn.'"^ Fair  and  smiling  she  is  pictured  by  the  poets, 
with  "  beautiful  eyes  full  of  love  and  light  and  laughter." 
Sensible  and  witty  we  must  believe  her,  and  we  know  that 
she  was  a  poetess  and  an  arbiter  elegantiarum  in  questions 
of  courtly  love.  Her  charm  was  inextinguishable,  too, 
like  that  of  Ninon  de  Lenclos.  When  Eble  married  her, 
at  least  forty-seven  years  had  been  charged  to  her  account, 
and  no  less  than  thirteen  years  later  Faidit  found  her 
lovable  still.  This  lady — the  most  cultured  woman  of  the 
age — touched  the  deepest  springs  of  the  joglar's  rich  but 
riotous  nature,  and  though  .some  twelve  years  her  junior 
he  devoted  himself  to  her  service  with  a  sincere  and 
humble  passion  that  ennobled  him. 

Maria,  as  the  mistress  of  a  literary  salon  and  ambitious 
for  distinction,  was  glad  to  receive  men  of  talent, — espe- 
cially poets,  and  for  years  listened  with  a  friendly  air  to 
Faidit's  love-songs,  criticising  his  art,  no  doubt,  and  very 
likely  throwing  light  upon  his  blemishes  of  character  and 


2o8  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

of  manners.  Both  favor  and  reproofs  were  accepted  by 
her  admirer  with  gratitude. 

With  face  cast  down,  all  pale  to  view, 
For  every  fault  of  his  he  then  doth  sigh  ; 

SO  Dante  wrote,  and  this  was  no  doubt  precisely  the  trou- 
badour's attitude.  Over  and  over  his  poems  told  Maria 
how  greatly  he  feared  "  the  worth  in  you,  and  the  great 
nobility  and  virtue."  Often  it  happened,  as  he  confessed, 
that  he  resolved  upon  pra3'ing  for  a  token  of  affection,  but 
when  his  heart  saw  her  he  felt  lost  and  had  "  no  remem- 
brance. ' '  Realizing  his  inferiority  he  could  only  ' '  look  ' ' 
at  her,  and  could  not  and  dared  not  pray  to  her,  nor  had 
he  the  power  to  express  his  love.  vSometimes  he  suffered 
still  more  :  "  I  do  not  hear  when  one  speaks  to  me,  and 
my  hands  tremble  and  shiver."  It  was  indeed  hard 
schooling  for  a  man  like  him,  but  it  bore  its  fruit.  Says 
Dante  again  : 


^o"- 


Within  her  eyes  my  lady  beareth  love 
So  that  whom  she  regards  is  gentle  made  ; 

and  in  the  end,  with  a  love  purged  of  much  dross  and  an 
art  elevated  and  refined,  Faidit  was  able  to  sing  as  a  gen- 
uine troubadour. 

It  is  clear  that  he  recognized  the  value  of  his  long  dis- 
cipline at  Ventadour.  Many  a  time  his  distress  rose  into 
tlie  light  of  the  great  truth  uttered  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  : 
"  No  man  ever  accomplished  anything  great  or  noble  save 
at  the  expense  of  resolute  and  persistent  self-denial  ' ' ; 
and  at  such  moments  he  comforted  himself  by  singing  : 
"  One  cannot  attain  to  great  excellence  without  pain  and 
suffering. ' '  But  he  was  very  human  still ;  and  after  seven 
years  of  schooling  he  told  Maria  plainly  one  day  that 
either  she  must  return  his  love  or  he  would  go  elsewhere. 


M 


CHALUS. 


209 


Malemort  211 

This  was  precisely  what  Maria  had  been  dreading,  for  a 
troubadour  had  the  ear  of  the  public,  and  a  lover  dis- 
carded after  seven  years  of  devotion  was  likel)'  to  say 
sharp  things.     So  she  thought  it  wise  to  take  counsel. 

About  three  miles  from  the  cheerful  town  of  Brive  is 
Malemort,  a  little  village  on  the  hem  of  the  mountains. 
Leaving  the  meadows  behind  us,  we  climb  the  hill  and 
find  ourselves  at  once  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  streets 
are  winding  alleys  paved  with  rough  sharp  stones,  and 
walled  high  where  houses  are  lacking.  Farther  up  on 
the  hillside  we  discover  a  break  in  the  ground,  providen- 
tially made  for  us  the  other  da}-,  and  opening  four  wa\'S 
from  the  hole  we  see  underground  passages  running  to  the 
castle  above  and  providing  for  reinforcement  or  escape. 
Then  we  enter  a  lane  and  wind  about  the  hill  as  we 
ascend. 

I  called  the  lane  at  Ventadour  superlative,  and  so  it  is  ; 
but  there  is  always  room  for  antithesis,  and  Ventadour 
has  Malemort  for  a  contrast.  That  is  the  major,  this  the 
minor  mode.  That  has  the  glory  of  the  sun,  this  the 
glamour  of  the  moonlight.  The  one  is  the  poetry  of 
Chaucer,  the  other  the  poetry  of  Keats  ;  and  the  Ode  to 
a  A^ightingale  should  have  been  written  here. 

The  very  name  of  the  place  distills  mystery  and  shadow, 
for  when  two  thousand  persons — free-lances,  their  wives, 
and  their  children — were  slain  here  in  one  day  (1177),  the 
name  of  the  castle  was  changed  from  Beautiful  Fortress 
to  Bad  Death  ;  and  Nature,  catching  up  the  theme,  has 
worked  it  out  into  ever}-  elaboration  of  her  fancy.  In  an 
open  spot  she  has  planted  a  clump  of  broom  for  a  beam 
of  gladness,  and  some  wild  poppies  for  a  dash  of  coquetry ; 
but  the  overhanging  trees  are  mostly  dark  and  close  ;  the 
walls  are  half  covered  with  moss — deep  and  golden-brown 
— and  the  stones  are  black  with  the  stains  of  dampness  and 
mould.     Everything  is  beautiful,  but  silent,  low-toned,  and 

VOL.    11.  — 14. 


212  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

small.  All  over  the  moss  are  scattered  little  ferns,  the  most 
dainty  and  crisp  that  could  be  imagined,  like  spangles  of 
dull  green  gold.  Timid  sprays  of  ivy  creep  down  the 
wall,  and  branches  of  dwarfed  holly  reach  out  elfin  hands 
to  them  behind  the  medlars.  Minified  grasses,  bestudded 
with  miniature  dandelions,  carpet  the  ground.  Every 
sort  of  wild-flower,  grown  fragile  in  the  shade,  blossoms 
with  a  mystical  pallor  here.  Forget-me-nots  quiveringly 
shy,  marguerites  daintier  than  marguerites,  roses  bloom- 
ing with  the  colorless  blu.sh  of  a  decadent  romance,  violets 
perfumed  with  dreamlike  subtlety,  nameless  blossoms  iu- 
describably  delicate — pink,  white,  pearly,  lavender,  and 
straw — solitary  and  clustered — all  are  a-gaze  here  with 
twilight  eyes,  and  all  seem  keeping  silence  upon  thoughts 
of  exquisite  meaning,  infinitely  precious,  and  infinitely 
sad.  To  and  fro,  this  way  and  that,  we  go  to  determine 
which  place  is  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  melanchoh', 
and  we  cannot  tell  ;  but  we  linger  so  long  that  we  cease 
to  care  about  looking  :  for  the  harmonies  of  the  spot  have 
begun  to  .sing  their  music  into  our  thoughts, — music  the 
subtlest,  the  .sweetest,  the  tenderest  :  Nature's  requiem 
over  her  children,  the  fallen  towers  and  the  crumbled 
walls — were  they  not  rock  of  her  rock  ? — and  we  realize 
for  ourselves  the  poet's  paradox  :  "  Heard  melodies  are 
sweet,  but  those  unheard  are  sweeter."  '"' 

In  Faidit's  time,  despite  the  bloody  scenes  enacted  there 
so  recently,  the  castle  was  a  l^right  and  lively  abode,  for 
there  lived  here  a  young,  fair,  and  clever  lad}-  named 
Audiart.  It  was  Audiart  whom  Maria  summoned  to 
advise  her,  and  she  .said  :  "  Leave  it  all  to  me  :  I  will 
manage  the  affair  .so  that  he  will  let  you  alone,  and  still 
not  become  3-our  enemy."  "  And  my  lady  Maria,"  says 
the  histor}',  "  was  exceedingly  glad  when  .she  heard  that, 
and  pra5'ed  her  urgently  to  bring  it  to  pass"  ;  and  so 
Audiart,  going  home  to  Malemort,  .sent  this  message  to 


MALEMORT. 


21' 


Gaucelni  Faidit  215 

the  poet, — that  he  should  prefer  a  Httle  bird  in  the  hand 
to  a  crane  in  the  sk}'. 

Faidit,  when  he  received  the  message,  got  straightway 
on  his  horse,  rode  to  the  lady's  castle,  and  asked  what  it 
meant.  Andiart  received  him  sweetly,  and — to  make  the 
story  short — informed  him  with  many  downcastings  of  the 
eyes,  perhaps,  but  apparently  no  stumbling  of  the  tongue, 
that  she  pitied  him  for  loving  vainly,  and  as  she  would 
like  to  be  adored  and  made  famous  by  a  troubadour,  she 
counselled  him  to  take  a  polite  leave  of  Maria  and  address 
himself  to  one  who  was  called  "  very  beautiful,"  and 
would  grant  whatever  he  might  ask. 

The  languishing  poet  nearly  lOvSt  his  senses  for  joy,  we 
read  ;  and  when  he  was  master  of  himself  again  he  made 
haste,  after  thanking  the  lad}^  to  follow  her  advice.  This 
done,  he  returned,  fell  at  her  feet,  and  claimed  the  prom- 
ised reward.  Then  she  told  him  with  manj-  pleasant 
words  that  she  only  intended  to  be  his  friend  and  wean 
him  from  a  hopeless  love,  and  the  poet  saw  that  she  had 
separated  him  from  one  he  sincerely  worshipped,  meaning 
only  that  he  should  sing  her  praise  for  nothing.  And  he 
came  back  to  Uzerche  "  sad  and  sorrowful,"  and  all  the 
more  unfortunate  because,  ignorant  of  Maria's  part  in  the 
affair,  he  begged  her  to  forgive  his  apostasy  and  suffered 
one  more  disdainful  rebuff. 

But  his  love  for  the  lady  of  Ventadorn — the  golden 
thread  of  his  life — still  survived  ;  and  partly  for  the  sake 
of  pleasing  her,  as  it  seems,  he  took  the  cross  after  singing 
in  passionate  verses  the  duty  and  the  glory  of  crusading. 
Devotion  so  true  might  well  touch  an}-  lady's  heart.  Not 
merely  death,  but  sufferings  worse  than  death  were  often 
the  crusader's  lot,  we  must  remember.  ' '  O  terrible  Turks, 
give  us  water,  then  kill  us  !  ' '  was  the  agonizing  strain  of 
a  Greek  song  ;  and  Faidit,  turning  joyfully  homeward  to 
the  lady  who  seemed  won  at  last,  sang  of  his  own  trials 


2i6  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

with  that  personal  note,  which — throbbing  amid  the  in- 
tricacies of  his  highly  wrought  verse — was  the  distinctive 
excellence  of  his  poetry. 

The  deep,  engulfing  sea, 

The  ports  where  troubles  throng 
Are  now  behind  me  ;  free 

From  perils  ventured  long, 
And  safe  by  God's  decree 
From  every  tribulation, 
I  think  of  dreadful  hazards  tried, 
And  praise  the  Lord  who  wills  to  guide 
My  footsteps  home,  for  there  abide 
The  gladness  and  elation 
Of  reconciliation. 
For  which  my  parting  vainl3-  sighed. 

To  God  I  bend  the  knee, 

Since  life  He  deigns  prolong, 
And  gives  me  strength  to  see 

The  spot  for  which  I  long, — 
Ah,  better  that  than  be 
Elsewhere  in  any  station  ! 
For  where  my  lady  is,  reside 
The  deeds  that  shine,  the  words  that  glide, 
And  courtly  welcomes,  beautified 
With  loving  converration 
And  sweet  anticipation. 
Worth  more  than  all  there  is  beside. 

I  sing — and  rightfully. 

Foretasting  joy  and  song. 
Love,  chat,  and  repartee, 

Which  in  your  court  belong. 
Where  garden,  mead,  and  tree 
Give  gladness  for  vexation. 
While  fountains  pour  their  clear,  cool  tide  ; 
No  more  I  dread  the  sea  so  wide. 
The  winds— north,  south,  and  west — that  chide, 
The  ship's  mad  oscillation  ; 


Gaucelm  Paidit  217 

Nor  see  with  consternation 
A  hostile  fleet  our  course  bestride. 

For  heaven's  felicity 

One  should  indeed  be  strong, 
And  face  these  pains, — to  flee 

In  such  a  cause  is  wrong  ; 
But  robbers — who  agree 
To  go  for  spoliation — 
What  fearful  chances  there  betide  ! 
For  in  a  moment  they  who  ride — 
Or  so  they  think — to  fortune,  slide, 
And  then  in  desperation. 
Unmindful  of  damnation, 
Fling  gold  and  soul  and  life  aside  !  '^ 

We  can  understand  from  these  lines  with  what  eager- 
ness the  troubadour  hurried  to  Yentadorn,  but  it  was  only 
to  find  himself  once  more  disappointed.  Maria  had  bidden 
him  a  kind  farewell  and  apparently  had  sent  tender  mes- 
sages in  rettirn  for  songs  from  her  distant  lover  ;  she 
knew,  too,  that  his  praise  had  made  her  famous  all  the 
way  from  Limousin  to  Palestine  ;  but  she  loved  another, 
not  a  poet  but  a  lord,  and  for  Gaucelm  Faidit  she  cared 
just  as  nuich  and  just  as  little  as  before — no,  less,  for  her 
fame  had  been  gained.  So  Faidit  was  made  to  under- 
stand that  his  many  years  of  devotion  had  been  a  hopeless 
quest,  and  his  dream  came  to  an  end  (1204). 

He  was  now  almost  fift}'  j-ears  old  and  began  to  realize 
the  truth  of  his  own  saying  :  "  The  daj-  a  man  is  born  he 
begins  to  die  "  ;  but  he  still  roamed,  for  that  was  his  call- 
ing, and  he  still  made  love,  for  that  was  a  part  of  the  life.''^ 

Two  of  his  attachments  have  been  recorded.  Once  his 
mistress  was  more  faithful  than  appearances  and  public 
opinion  gave  him  reason  to  suppose,  and  he  had  to  re- 
proach himself  bitterly  for  leaving  her  ;  while  in  the  other 
case  his  lady  made  a  mock  of  his  praise  and  loyalty  pre- 


2i8  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

cisely  as  the  viscountess  of  Polignac  didofSain  L,eidier's. 
Through  it  all  he  never  forgot  his  one  true  passion,  and 
when  this  last  blow  nearl}'  broke  his  heart  he  took  up  his 
viol  once  more  and  bitterlj'  compared  the  false  and  shame- 
less lady  who  kissed  and  then  betrayed  him  with  his  ever- 
courtly  and  ever-loved  Maria. 

"  That,"  says  the  biography,  "  was  the  last  love-song 
that  he  made,"  and  it  is  the  last  we  hear  of  him." 


XXXV 

HAUTEFORT,  MONTIGNAC,  AND  CHALAIS 

Bertran  de  Born 

A  FLOURISH  of  trumpets.  A  clang  of  arms.  A 
pavilion  surmounted  with  a  golden  eagle,  the  sign 
of  royalty.  A  throng  of  mail-clad  nobles  before  the 
entrance  to  the  pavilion.  In  the  midst  of  the  throng  a 
single  man,  pinioned,  and  closely  guarded  by  two  soldiers. 

The  prisoner  is  about  forty-five  years  of  age,  spare  and 
of  somewhat  less  than  medium  stature.  Unlike  most  of 
those  in  the  gathering  he  wears  no  beard.  A  thin,  hooked 
nose  matches  well  a  chin  precisely  like  Richard  Wagner's, 
— distinctly  a  hawk  face.  Large  grey  eyes,  gleaming  out 
of  their  deep  sockets  under  bushy  eyebrows,  look  slowly 
around  from  one  person  to  another,  blending  alertness  and 
fixity  in  a  glance  of  singular,  almost  startling  intensity.' 

Out  of  the  pavilion  steps  a  figure  even  more  noteworthy. 
In  height  it  is  no  way  remarkable, — neither  tall  nor  short  ; 
but  the  portly  body,  sinewy  legs,  square  chest,  and  mus- 
cular arms  indicate  unusual  strength  ;  and  the  bull-neck, 
bullet-head,  fiery  countenance,  and  reddish  hair  betoken 
passions  no  less  extraordinary.  Bloodshot,  flashing  grey 
eyes,  high  cheek-bones,  projecting  lips,  and  a  powerful 
chin  covered  with  a  close  l)ut  somewhat  pointed  beard 
heighten  the  impression.  The  man's  dress  indicates 
wealth  and  rank, — green  boots  ornamented  with  gold, 

219 


2  20  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

golden  spurs  fastened  with  a  strap  of  red  leather,  a  crim- 
son bliaut  starred  with  gold,  gloves — sparkling  with  gems 
— thrust  into  his  belt,  and  a  mantle  of  deep  reddish- 
chocolate  silk  held  together  with  a  gold  brooch  over  the 
right  shoulder ;  but  personal  force,  disdainful  of  mere 
station,  speaks  from  ever}-  point  of  his  figure,  and  his 
fingers — those  restless  fingers,  never  quiet,  that  scribble 
caricatures  at  church  when  the  lips  are  not  whispering — 
his  fingers  fold  and  unfold  with  an  impatience  that  belies 
the  firm  dignit)-  of  his  bearing/ 

Henry  II.  of  England, ^ — we  feel  it  can  be  no  one  else  ; 
and  we  are  right.  The  conqueror  of  Scotland  ^  and  of 
Ireland,  the  lord  of  three  out  of  the  five  duchies  of  France, 
the  mightiest  king  of  his  time,  and  perhaps  the  ablest 
monarch  that  England  ever  had  stands  before  us  in  the 
midst  of  his  court. 

At  sight  of  the  prisoner  the  veins  of  the  king's  neck 
swell  to  the  point  of  bursting,  and  his  eyes  burn  with  a 
demon-fire  that  confirms  for  all  who  look  upon  him  the 
tradition  of  an  ancestress  who  was  in  truth  deemed  a  fiend 
incarnate.  All  await  the  terrible  oath,  "  By  God's  eyes  !  " 
and  the  swift  order,  "  Off  with  his  head  !  "  But  the 
king's  anger  demands  more  than  death, — first,  torture. 

"  Bertran,  Bertran,"  he  says  in  his  grating,  broken 
voice,  "  5^ou  have  said  that  3'ou  have  never  yet  needed 
even  half  j^our  wit  ;  but  know  well  that  you  need  all  of 
it  today." 

"  Lord,"  answered  the  prisoner,  "it  is  ver}'  true  that 
I  so  spoke,  and  I  only  spoke  the  truth." 

"  Then  it  seems  to  me  you  have  lost  all  your  wit  now." 

"  Lord,  I  have  indeed  lost  it." 

"  And  how?" 

"  Lord,  the  day  your  son,  the  noble  5'oung  king,  per- 
ished, that  day  lost  I  wit,  knowledge,  and  sense"  ;  and 
Bertran's  voice  breaks  in  sobs. 


Bertran  cle  Born  and  Henry  II.  221 

At  the  word  "  son  "  the  king  starts  as  if  pierced  with 
an  arrow  ;  pale  as  death,  gasping,  and  clutching  at  the 
air,  he  reels  and  would  fall  but  for  the  arms  of  sev^eral 
near  him.  Then  tears  pour  down  his  cheeks,  and  after  a 
moment,  recovering  himself  with  a  mighty  effort,  he  cries: 

"  vSir  Bertran,  Sir  Bertran,  you  had  good  reason  and  it 
is  right  indeed  if  you  lost  your  strength  of  mind  when  my 
son  died,  for  no  man  did  he  love  more  than  you.  And 
now  for  love  of  him,  not  only  I  .spare  your  life,  Vmt  I  give 
back  your  property  and  }our  castle,  and  I  add  thereto  for 
the  loss  you  have  suffered  five  hundred  marks  of  silver 
with  my  favor  and  my  love. ' ' 

Such  is  the  Provencal  story.* 

And  this  man,  who  as  we  shall  see  has  richlj'  earned 
the  king's  hate,  yet  with  a  touch  can  break  him  in  pieces 
before  his  court, — who  is  he  ? 

The  lord  of  Autafort  he  is  called  among  the  barons,  but 
for  us  he  is  Bertran  de  Born,  the  troubadour.^ 

High  amoi:g  the  border  hills  of  Perigord,  and  about  a 
league  and  a  half  l^eyond  the  quiet  vale  of  Dalon  is  Haute- 
fort,  the  modern  Autafort,  another  peninsula  of  plateau 
thrust  into  another  wide  valley  as  at  Beauville,  with  a 
few  houses  thrown  here  and  there  on  the  slope  to  make  a 
village,  and  a  fragrance  of  roses  drifting  furlongs  away  on 
the  breeze.  But  the  castle  has  not  fared  like  that  of 
Bouvila.  Not  a  rambling  gendarmerie  is  here,  but  an 
exten.sive  and  imposing  chateau,  one  of  the  finest  in  pro- 
vincial France,  a  countr)-  cousin  to  the  Louvre.  Enter- 
ing from  a  large  terrace  we  find  a  building  that  fills  three 
sides  of  a  gravelled  square,  with  a  low  parapet  on  the 
southern  side.  Within  it  there  are  parlors  and  drawing- 
rooms,  long  vi.stas  of  apartments,  a  chapel,  the  proprietor's 
bedchamber  perfectly  ready,  the  pots  and  pans  of  the 
kitchen  clean  and  bright, — everything  prepared  and  wait- 


O  O  -7 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


ing,  and  still  waiting  on  in  silence.  We  feel  as  if  there 
must  be  people  near  at  hand ;  the}^  must  be  sleeping  some- 
where and  soon  will  appear.  But  people  there  are  none. 
The  proprietor  stays  in  Paris,  and  the  trim  steward  is  lord 
of  the  manor. 

Almost  nothing  remains  of  the  ancient  castle."     Beside 
the  main  entrance  stands  a  short  pillar  nearly  buried  in  the 


A   DISTANT   VIEW  OF   HAUTEFORT. 


wall — the  only  bit,  according  to  tradition.  But  the  ground 
is  there  still.  We  see  how  strong  the  place  was  toward  the 
valley,  ' '  an  impregnable  fortress, ' '  as  Geoffrey  of  Vigeois 
called  it '  ;  and  we  see  also  how  exposed  it  la^-  to  battering- 
rams,  movable  towers,  and  scaling-ladders  on  the  rearward 
side.  Who  can  say  how  many  battles  took  place  on  the 
spine  of  the  ridge  ?  Twice,  at  least,  Richard  the  Lion- 
hearted  fought  there,  and  Bertran  de  Born  manj^  times 
more,  for,  says  the  biography,  ' '  he  was  ever  at  war  with 
all  his  neighbors." 

War  was  not  Bern's  only  business,   however.     As  a 


]\IontiL''nac 


223 


gentleman  and  a  poet  he  was  under  obligations  to  I^ove, 
and  he  paid  his  debt  right  valiantly  according  to  his  gifts. 
Though  not  rich  in  sentiment, 
he  possessed  a  plenty  of  wit.  His 
love-songs,  while  wanting  in  am- 
orous unction  and  real  fire,  are 
undoubtedly  clever;  and  his  love 
affairs  themselves,  however  they 
may  fail  to  move,  are  certainly 


ilt^ 


interesting.* 

Down   below    the  towers    and 
gates  of  Uzerche  the  dark  Vezere 

go 


travels  thirty  leagues  to 
twelve,  and  finally  comes  in  its 
own  wa}'  to  Montignac.  Thither 
went  Bertran  de  Born,  too,  but 
not  b}'  a  route  so  indolent,  for  at 
the  end  of  the  journey,  in  a  loft}' 
castle  buttressed  b^-  a  natural 
pillar  of  black  ivy-wreathed  stone 
fort}-  feet  high,  and  boldly  over- 
looking the  town  and  the  river, 
Lady  Maeut,'  a  sister  of  Maria  de 
Ventadorn,  waited  to  smile  upon 
him. 

We  can  guess  quite  safeh*  at 
the  virtues  of  this  lady,  for  Born, 
her  lover,  describes  his  ideal  of 
womanhood  in  a  poem.  It  is  a 
piece  on  young-heartedness,  ap- 

parenth-  written  to  provide  Arnaut  Daniel  with  an  introduc- 
tion to  Duke  Richard.  A  man  is  3'oung,  says  the  poet,  while 
he  can  bear  privations,  and  is  ready  to  stake  all  his  worth  on 
a  hazard  ;  while  he  enjoys  tourneys  and  battles,  and  loves 
to  ravage  and  burn  ;  while  he  makes  liberal  gifts,  delights 


i!?H  i  '*-^  '•-'      i**-^ 


r  1 


M-^-^i-V 


THE  OLD  PILLAR. 


2  24  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

in  gallantry,  and  is  loved  by  the  joglars  ;  age  is  upon  him 
when  he  avoids  risks,  eschews  gambling,  and  wishes  to 
be  at  peace  for  a  daj-  now  and  then,  when  he  wears  a  cape 
over  his  mantle,  when — yielding  to  prudence  or  even 
avarice — he  piles  up  a  store  of  wheat,  wine,  and  bacon 
beyond  his  immediate  needs,  and  when  his  table  of- 
fers eggs  and  cheese  on  days  not  restricted  bv  Holj^ 
Church. 

In  like  manner  Born  defines  the  ages  of  women.  A  lady 
is  old  when  she  is  careless  about  attiring  her  head,  when 
she  has  no  lover  or  has  two,  when  she  feels  the  need  of 
charms  and  spells,  when  she  likes  to  talk  more  than  she 
ought,  and  finds  the  merr}'  joglars  wearisome  ;  but  a  lady 
is  young,  or  at  least  young-hearted,  while  she  keeps  her 
person  beautiful,  does  good  acts,  loyally  appreciates  a  fine 
man,  and  never  plays  him  an  ill  tarn.'"  Such  a  person, 
then,  we  may  doubtle.ss  count  the  fair  Maeut. 

Of  her  looks  we  can  be  surer  still,  for  Born — free  from 
the  intoxication  of  a  Bernart  or  a  Pons — was  able  to  re- 
cord the  items  of  her  beauty.  "  Fresh  and  fine  ;  young, 
gay,  and  lovable,"  he  described  her.  "  Gold-brown  hair 
touched  with  ruby  light  "  set  off  a  complexion  "  like  the 
blo.ssonis  of  the  white- thorn,"  and  she  had  a  .soft  arm,  a 
firm  bust,  and  a  back  as  graceful  and  springing  as  a 
rabbit's." 

Still  the  lad3''s  charms  were  not  enough  to  keep  her 
lover  from  worshipping  strange  gods  occasionally.  After 
a  season  of  hostility  and  even  war  against  the  troubadour, 
Duke  Richard  made  amends  by  inviting  him  to  pass  a 
winter  with  his  father,  the  king,  at  Argentan.  Doubtless 
Born  anticipated  great  festivities  and  great  pleasures  at 
the  royal  court,  but  he  was  grievously  disappointed. 
' '  Boorish  and  wearisome  ' '  he  found  existence  there,  for 
the  lively  manners  of  the  south  did  not  reign.  Around 
Henry  II.  life  was  earnest  business.     Extravagance — the 


Bertran 


clc  lK)ni 


2:5 


passion  of  the  Midi — was  frowned  npon  ;  and  the  trouba- 
donr,  hungry  for  gaj-  societ}',  exclaimed  in  (Hsgust  : 
Finished  courts  we  only  see 
Where  gay  talk  and  laughter  be  ;  '•' 


MONTIQNAC. 


adding  with  a  heart  full  of  bitterness  that  "  a  stingj-  court 
is  only  a  deer-park  of  lords."  '" 

Had  it  not  l^een  for  one  person  Born  declared  he  would 
have  died,— -the  duchess  of  Saxony,  Richard's  sister,  who 


VOL.  II.  — 15. 


2  26  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

was  passing  the  time  at  Argentan  while  Duke  Henn'  the 
Lion,  banished  for  conspiring  against  the  emperor,  made 
a  pilgrimage  to  Compostella.  She,  too,  was  lonely,  and 
Richard  urged  her  to  accept  the  troubadour's  homage, — 
another  proof  that  no  dishonor  was  involved  in  this  rela- 
tion. Born  was  nothing  loath.  To  celebrate  a  daughter 
of  the  king  and  to  be  accepted  as  her  lover  was  a  signal 
honor.  Rel3dng — as  he  seems  to  have  done  with  safety — 
on  the  distance  between  him  and  Montignac  he  loudly 
sang  :  "  Let  my  Fair  Lord  .  .  .  look  for  some  one 
else  to  praise  her, ' '  and  then  consecrated  all  his  talents  to 
the  service  of  his  new  mistress.'^ 

One  proof  that  Born  gave  of  his  devotion  was  quite 
unique.  While  Richard  and  he  were  campaigning  with 
some  troops,  they  had  not  wherewithal  to  break  their  fast 
one  morning,  and  when  the  hour  of  dinner  came  were  still 
without  supplies.  Before  the  poet's  fancy  rose  the  picture 
of  "  a  good  inn,  and  within  it  were  meat  and  bread  and 
wine,  and  the  fire  was  bright  as  if  of  beechwood."  But 
love  was  so  much  stronger  than  hunger  in  his  thoughts, 
that  his  longing  for  the  pleasures  of  the  inn  only  sug- 
gested the  delight  of  being  with  his  lady,  and  he  forgot 
his  privations  in  composing  a  song  for  her. '^ 

His  next  bit  of  truancy  fared  less  to  his  taste.  One  of 
his  friends,  the  viscount  of  Comborn,  brought  a  wife  home 
from  Burgundy,  a  lady  "  replete  with  charms,"  the  very 
dame — so  Canello  thinks — for  whom  Daniel  composed  that 
sestine  of  his  ;  and,  from  politeness  or  some  other  motive. 
Born  welcomed  her  to  Limousin  with  a  complimentary 
poem.  His  lad}'  took  offence  at  this  ;  and  the  trouba- 
dour, declaring  that 

Who  gains  the  better  for  the  good 
Deserves  to  be  the  more  esteemed,'* 

transferred  his  attentions  openly  to  Guischarda,  naming 


Bertran  de  Born  227 

her,  with  a  slighting  allusion  to  his  former  mistress  per- 
haps, "  Better-than-Good."     , 

But  he  met  witli  no  success  apparently,  and  found  him- 
self driven  to  regain  the  friendship  of  Maeut.  It  was  all 
a  slander  and  nothing  else,  he  averred,  the  story  that  he 
loved  another  ;  and  if  this  were  not  the  truth,  he  prayed 
to  be  punished  with  all  the  ills  he  dreaded  most  :  might 
his  hawk  be  killed  and  plucked  before  his  eyes  by  pirate 
falcons,  might  he  never  win  again  at  dice,  might  he  be 
compelled  to  live  in  a  tower  with  four  disagreeable  part- 
ners, and  forever  lack  both  soldiers  and  servants  ; 

My  lady  leave  me  for  auother  knight. 

And  come — I  care  not  what — the  worst  that  might  ; 

The  wind  shall  fail  me  when  I  'm  on  the  sea, 
The  porters  beat  me  in  King  Henry's  sight. 
And  from  the  battle  may  I  lead  the  flight 

If  he  lies  not  who  told  3'ou  that  of  me.'^ 

This  was  right  good  protesting  ;  but  no  doubt  the  lady 
had  facts,  and  Born  found  it  necessary  to  compose  another 
song. 

He  now  pretends  to  relinquish  hope.  His  lady  cares 
naught  for  him. 

And  without  the  least  excuse 
Wages  war  that  hath  no  truce.''' 

Plainly  it  is  all  over,  and — worse  yet — he  is  utterly  unable 
to  think  where  he  can  find  another  lady  to  equal  the  one 
he  loses.  Then  a  plan  occurs  to  him  ;  and  he  goes  about 
the  land  taking  from  all  the  fairest  the  peculiar  charm  of 
each, — from  one  her  fresh  complexion  and  amorous 
glances,  from  another  her  witty  talk,  from  the  lady  of 
Chalais  her  lovely  neck  and  hands,  from  the  lad}-  of 
Malemort  the  features  and  the  toilette  that  dazzled  Faidit, 
from  one  her  blonde  locks,  from  another  her  beautiful 


2  28  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

teeth,  from  Guiscliarda  her  straight  young  figure  ;  thus 
and  only  thus  can  he  obtain  a  mistress  equal  to  the  one 
he  has  lost. 

But  even  this  brave  compliment  was  ineffectual  ;  and 
at  length,  feeling  much  like  a  dog  without  a  master,  poor 
Born  crossed  the  hills,  and  rode  on  till  the  woody 
meadows  of  the  Teude  grew  narrow,  and  the  highlands 
thrust  a  wedge  of  rock  between  the  river  and  its  confluent. 
At  the  point  of  the  wedge  stood  Chalais.  A  comfortal)le 
chateau  is  there  now,  looking  down  complacently  upon 
the  marshes  and  the  poplars  ;  but  in  those  days  a  lord 
whose  mother  was  probably  Bernart  de  Ventadorn's  Mar- 
garida  had  a  mighty  fortress  on  the  cliff,  with  stout  walls 
and  high  towers  for  defence,  and  under  the  ground  safe 
passages  for  retreat. 

The  chdtclaine — she  of  the  beautiful  neck  and  hands^ 
was  a  friend  of  Bertran's  ;  and  the  troubadour,  after  en- 
deavoring to  justify  his  conduct  in  breaking  with  Maeut, 
begged  Lady  Tiborc  to  accept  him  as  her  knight."  Her 
answer  paints  the  high-bred  lady  of  the  time,  and  reminds 
us  once  more  that  courtly  love  was  not,  or  at  least  was 
not  intended  to  be,  a  clandestine,  irresponsible  intrigue. 

"  Bertran,"  she  said,  "  your  coming  to  me  here  makes 
me  glad  and  happy,  and  I  deem  it  a  high  honor.  At  the 
same  time  I  feel  displeasure.  It  is  an  honor  that  you 
have  come  to  see  me,  and  pray  me  to  accept  you  as  knight 
and  servitor  ;  but  I  am  indignant  if  Lady  Maeut  has  dis- 
missed you  and  is  angry  with  you  for  aught  you  have  said 
or  done  amiss.  But  I  am  one  who  knows  well  how  quickh' 
the  hearts  of  lovers  turn.  If  you  have  done  no  wrong  to- 
ward my  Lady  Maeut  I  shall  soon  find  out  the  truth,  and 
then  I  will  regain  you  her  favor.  But  in  case  the  fault  is 
yours,  neither  I  nor  any  other  lady  may  receive  you  or  ac- 
cept you  as  knight  and  servitor. ' '  Then,  as  she  promised, 
Tiborc  exerted  herself  to  reconcile  the  two,  and  before 


BELOW  THE  CASTLE,  CHALAIS. 


229 


Bertran  de  Born  231 

long  a  happy  troubadour  was  once  more  cantering  along 
the  road  to  Montignac,  humming  a  new  song  as  he  went. 

But,  as  I  intimated,  compliments  and  love-songs  were 
not  the  true  role  of  Bertran  de  Born.  To  make  them  be- 
longed in  the  character  of  a  gentleman  of  fashion,  and  the 
genteel  poet  of  Autafort  took  pride  in  playing  his  part,— 
* '  it  was  his  duty  and  he  did  ' ' ;  but  his  real  singing  had  a 
very  different  cast.  As  poetry  it  was  the  worse  for  this. 
Born  is  not  easy  and  serenely  artistic,  but  impatient, 
forced,  sometimes  incorrect,  and  frequenth^  rough  ;  his 
usual  style  is  not  sweet  and  unctuous,  but  rather  dry  and 
severe  ;  and  instead  of  flowing  musically  on,  caressing 
flower}'  banks  with  lyric  eddies,  and  echoing  the  boughs 
of  the  forest  and  the  blue  of  the  heavens  with  lights  and 
shadows  even  more  profound  and  more  significant,  his 
verse  rushes  on  like  a  torrent  ;  always  restless,  often  vio- 
lent ;  grey,  swift,  and  fierce  ;  tearing  at  its  banks,  boiling 
up  the  mud  and  gravel  of  its  bed,  and  rolling  great  stones 
along  its  channel  with  many  hoarse  rumblings  and  many 
a  hard  shock.  Yet  he  was  master  of  his  art,  such  as  it 
was.  While  Bernart  de  Ventadorn  had  the  glory  of 
moulding  for  all  his  successors  the  love-song  of  Provence, 
Bertran  de  Born  was  appointed  to  forge  the  Provencal 
sirvente,  and  the  satires  of  Peire  Cardinal,  the  greatest 
moral  poet  of  the  age,  were  built  upon  his  foundation. 

In  subjects  and  in  purpose  there  was  no  resemblance 
between  these  two,  however  ;  for  Born  sang  of  politics, 
not  morals  ;  and  his  personal  quarrels,  not  the  love  of 
right,  were  the  burden  of  his  message.  To  be  sure  we 
cannot  reckon  him  a  hater  of  the  first  order, — he  was  too 
mercurial  and  far  too  anxious  for  enjoyment,  but  as  a 
wrangler  he  occupies  the  very  front  rank.  Quarrelling 
was  the  essence  of  his  pleasure,  as  well  as  the  keynote  of 
his  interests. 

His  teeth  were  not  disdainful  of  any  prey.     Falling  out 


232  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

with  a  joglar  he  addressed  him  a  poem,  and  among  other 
tributes  paid  him  this  ;  "  There  is  no  menial  that  would 
not  advance  to  the  assault  before  you  would  ;  and  3'ou — 
for  all  your  helmet — would  be  the  last  man  to  enter, 
though  nothing  but  melons  were  used  by  the  de- 
fenders." "  Another  joglar  importuned  him  for  a  new 
song — to  be  his  Open  Sesame  at  many  a  castle  gate — and 
Born  finall}^  gave  him  a  piece  with  this  compliment  in  it 
for  himself : 

With  hoarse,  loud  voice  you  sing  not,  but  halloo  ; 

So  black  your  face,  you  're  taken  for  a  Moor  ; 
The  tale  you  tell  is  murdered  ere  you  're  through  ; 

But  since — as  rude  as  any  backwoods  boor^ 
You  smell  of  tar  and  pitch  and  rosin, 
And  look  ill-dressed,  ill-kempt  from  hood  to  shoe, 
I  '11  make  the  song  to  rid  myself  of  you.-'" 

At  the  opposite  end  of  the  social  scale  stood  the  poet- 
king,  Anifos  II.  of  Aragon,  and  Born  devoted  two  biting 
invectives  to  him  besides  incidental  attentions. 

Just  wh}'  this  quarrel  raged  so  fierce!}'  we  cannot  be 
sure.  A  few  years  before  (1181),  Amfos  laid  siege  to  the 
city  of  Toulouse,  and  the  count,  summoning  all  possible 
aid,  implored  Born  to  write  a  poem  against  the  Spanish 
king.  Born  complied,  and  Amfos  retaliated  not  long  after 
by  helping  Richard  at  the  siege  of  Autafort.  This  would 
explain  a  good  deal  of  wrath  on  the  troubadour's  part, 
but  there  is  also  a  story — none  too  probable — to  account 
for  its  peculiar  bitterness.  The  king,  we  are  told,  finding 
himself  short  of  provisions  while  in  camp  before  Autafort 
begged  supplies  of  Born  himself,  and  Born — complying 
with  his  request — asked  him  to  have  the  battering  engines 
moved  away  to  another  part  of  the  wall ;  w^hereupon  Amfos 
betrayed  this  precious  indication  to  Richard.  Be  the  tale 
true  or  not,  Born's  invective  was  unsparing.     Whatever 


Bertran  de  P)orn  233 

thing  his  own  wit  could  not  invent,  he  was  read}-  to  bor- 
row from  the  slanders  of  his  dear  "  brother  "'  Guilhem  de 
Berguedan,  the  king's  bitterest  enemy,  and  no  lie  was  too 
extraordinary  for  him  to  repeat. 

Grief  o'ershadows  Aragon, 
Catalouia,  aud  Urgel, 
For  they  've  none  to  rule  them  well, 
But  a  fatling  prince,  half-strung. 
Who  his  predecessor  hung  ; 

One  that  sings  to  praise  himself, 
And  loves  honor  less  than  pelf, — 
Wherefore  hell  will  be  his  portion.-' 

Another  and  more  serious  quarrel  was  nearer  home. 
Bertran  had  a  brother,  and  the  two  held  Autafort  in  com- 
mon. Constantin  is  de.scribed  in  the  storj-  as  a  quiet, 
prudent  fellow  ;  and  w^hile  there  is  some  reason  to  qualify 
this  characterization,  his  temperament  was  clearly  very 
different  from  Bertran's.  Probably  he  was  a  plain,  blunt 
man  who  demanded  his  rights,  and  so  the  poet  was  pleased 
to  regard  him  as  a  greedy,  restless,  insatiable  monster, 
bent  on  robbing  innocent  children  of  their  future  in- 
heritance.    Between  such  men  strife  was  inevitable. 

The  beginnings  of  the  strife  cannot  fully  be  explained, 
but  some  details  of  its  progress  are  clear  enough.  B\' 
hook  or  by  crook  Bertran  pried  his  uncongenial  partner 
out  of  the  castle,  whereupon  the  neighboring  barons 
forcibly  reinstated  him.  Bertran  stimmoned  his  own 
allies  then,  and  camped  about  the  place.  At  his  request, 
however — for  apparenth-  he  dreaded  the  issue  of  a  battle — 
peace  w^as  restored  on  the  old  footing,  but  before  long  he 
pried  his  brother  out  again.  Upon  this,  Constantin  ap- 
pealed to  Richard,  their  duke  ;  and  Richard,  backed  by 
the  neighboring  barons,  came  with  an  army. 

Those  were  anxious  times  for  the  poet. 


234  Th^  Troubadours  at  Home 

All  day  I  struggle  and  contend, 
Wage  ceaseless  battles,  fence,  defend  ; 
My  lands  are  ravaged  and  are  burned. 
My  trees  uprooted  and  o'erturned, 

All  my  grain  trod  down  to  rack  me. 
And  all  the  lords  I  've  fought  or  spurned 
Now  assemble  to  attack  me.'-^ 

Certainly  the  outlook  for  the  dought}'  troubadour  was 
rather  dark.  But  happil}'  for  him  Richard  was  called 
away,  and  as  Constaiitin  appealed  in  vain  to  the  king 
himself,  Bertran  remained  in  possession  of  the  castle. 

The  following  simimer  (1183)  Richard  and  Amfos  took 
the  place  and  gave  it  up  to  the  brother,  but  once  more 
Bertran  recovered  it  ;  and  in  the  end,  according  to  tradi- 
tion, Constantin  concluded  to  yield  his  rights  and  settle 
himself  on  a  steep  knoll  of  a  hill  about  a  couple  of  miles 
from  Autafort.  His  old  home  was  in  full  view  from  his 
new  one  ;  and  so,  frowning  and  glaring,  the  two  brothers 
looked  down  every  day  into  the  same  round  valley  with 
its  pines  and  poplars,  its  chestnuts  and  walnuts,  its  creamy 
wild  roses  tipped  with  pink,  its  morning  and  its  evening 
fleece  of  mist,  little  heeding,  I  fear,  the  placid  beauty  of 
the  scene. 

But  our  troubadour,  instead  of  regretting  such  troubles, 
gloried  in  them.  If  at  peace  for  a  moment  in  his  own 
castle,  he  was  eager  for  trouble  to  break  out  among  his 
neighbors,  and  he  frankly  said  : 

'T  is  my  desire  that  mighty  lords 
Be  e'er  at  odds  among  themselves.^^ 

War  was  a  good  thing,  he  believed,  for  its  own  sake,  and 
to  all  who  burned  for  honor  he  cried  unceasingly  :  "  You 
will  never  be  esteemed  unless  you  are  found  in  the  thick 
of  battle."  Indeed,  saturated  with  tales  of  martial  ex- 
ploits, he  dreamed  of  little  else.  Uke  a  Tyrtseus  of  indis- 
criminate slaughter  he  sang  : 


The  Knight's  Equipment 


235 


Peace  delights  me  not, 
War — be  that  my  lot  ; 

Law  I  do  not  know 

Save  a  right  good  blow.'^^ 

And  when  finall}-  the  call  to  arms  came  echoing  through 
his  fair  valley,  he  equipped  for  the  fray  with  joy  and 
alacrity. 

It  was  worth  while  to  be  present  when  he  set  out  from 
Autafort.      Over  the   regulation   breeches  and   shirt  he 


A  MAN   IN  ARMOR. 


THE   HELMET. 


wore  a  heavy  quilted  jacket,  and  over  this  a  lined  woollen 
robe  of  deep  blue  coming  down  to  his  ankles.  Over  this 
again  was  the  hauberk,  soon  to  become  a  dense  fabric  of 
chain-mail,  but  as  j-et  only  a  leather  frock  reaching  half 
wa}'  from  knee  to  ankle,  covered  with  links  of  steel,  and 
— like  the  robe — parted  before  and  behind  so  that  the 
wearer  could  bestride  a  horse.  The  hauberk  had  long 
sleeves  protecting  the  wrists,  and  a  hood  of  mail,  which. 


2^6  The  Troubadours  at  Home 


■J 


after  the  poet's  head  was  garnished  with  a  thick  soft  cap, 
was  drawn  up  and  over  until  onlj'  his  face  could  be  seen. 
The  pointed  steel  helmet  from  Pavia,  duly  fortified  with 
a  nose-piece  of  brass  and  painted  blue,  was  then  placed 
upon  the  hood  and  laced  firmly  to  it  with  strips  of  leather. 
In  a  belt  of  leather,  covered  with  garnet  silk  and  fastened 
with  a  gilded  buckle,  hung  a  dagger,  the  handle  of  which 
was  averred  to  be  of  horn  from  the  horned  viper.  Shoes 
of  soft  but  tough  leather,  strengthened  with  strips  of 
enamelled  brass,  spurs— merely  points  of  gilded  silver — 
attached  by  crimson  straps,  and  buff  gloves,  doubly  thick 
on  the  backs,  completed  his  dress. 

His  sword — the  product  of  a  Castilian  forge — .supported 
by  another  garnet-colored  belt,  was  of  medium  length, 
straight  and  broad,  with  a  gilded  handle,  a  slightly  curv- 
ing bar  for  a  guard,  and  in  the  pommel  three  hairs  from 
the  head  of  St.  Martial,  visible  through  a  plate  of  crystal, 
which,  though  intensely  hard,  had  been  softened  for  cut- 
ting— so  the  jeweller  explained — by  a  bath  of  blood  still 
warm  from  the  veins  of  a  goat. 

When  Born  was  ready  to  mount,  an  esquire  led  up  his 
war-horse  Baiart,  a  grey  stallion  whose  red  and  quivering 
nostrils  had  snuffed  fire  from  the  winds  of  Gascony. 
Baiart  carried  almost  no  armor  ;  but  his  accoutrements, 
from  the  powerful  curb  to  the  Carcassonne  saddle  with  its 
triangular  stirrups  and  gilded  pommel,  were  strongly  and 
skilfully  made,  and  his  breastplate  was  adorned  with  em- 
broidery, with  plaques  of  brass,  and  with  a  few  precious 
stones. 

Bertran  mounted  at  a  leap,  and  called  at  once  for  his 
shield.  This  was  a  round-cornered  triangle  of  wood  bent 
so  as  to  fit  the  rider's  body,  covered  with  the  toughest  of 
leather,  bound  with  brass,  and  half  supported  by  a  garnet 
belt  passing  around  his  neck.  In  size — reaching  almost 
from  shoulder  to  knee — it  was  larger  than  the  coming. 


The  Muster 


but  smaller  than  the  bygone  style.  In  the  centre  stood  a 
boss  of  gilded  iron,  and  on  the  field — painted  cobalt-blue 
and  varnished — were  blazoned  in  red  the  troubadour's 
arms  :  three  falcons,  jessed,  belled,  and  hooded. 

Last  of  all  the  esquire  handed  Born  his  lance, — a  shaft 
of  ash  about  eight  feet  long,  without  counterpoise.  The 
head,  forged  of  Poitou  steel 
— rather  small,  but  keen 
and  bright — bore  this  in- 
scription, "A  faithless  man 
can  find  no  deliverance"; 
and  innnediately  below  it 
fluttered  the  gonfanon,  a  /^ 
small  .silk  banner  of  white 
cendal  edged  with  gold  em- 
broidery, in  the  centre  of 
which  the  .slender  fingers  of 
Lady  Maeut  had  worked  the 
troubadour's  arms  in  purple 
silk.'^^ 

Thoroughly  equipped  in  this  fashion  Born  is  ready  for 
the  fray;  and,  closely  followed  by  his  troop  and  hy  us,  he 
canters  off  to  the  rendezvous. 

There  a  brave  sight  rewards  our  penseverance.  The 
green  field  is  covered  with  an  army  of  such  warriors, — 
gay,  ardent,  splendor-loving  .sons  of  the  Midi.  All  is 
brilliancy,  movement,  and  spirit.  The  esquires  outvie 
one  another  in  zeal  and  activity.  The  fiery  war-horses — 
all  of  the  choicest  stock,  and  many  of  them  priceless 
treasures  brought  from  Spain  or  even  Syria — champ  the 
bit,  prance,  back,  sidle,  caracole,  curvet.  The  brave 
knights  in  gleaming  hauberks  displaj-  their  address  in 
horsemanship,  exchange  courtly  greetings,  laugh  at  a 
new  jest,  give  orders  to  their  attendants,  receive  and  send 
messages.     Arms  clash.     Signal  trumpets  peal."     Loud 


A  LARGE  GONFANON. 


238  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

calls  are  forwarded  from  lip  to  lip  through  the  host. 
Some  one  starts  a  battle-song,  and  before  the  first  stanza 
is  done  a  hundred  voices  have  joined.  vShields,  lance- 
heads,  and  helmets  flash  dazzling  glitter-points  here  and 
there  as  they  catch  the  sun.  Above  all  rise  the  fluttering 
banners  of  the  chiefs  and  the  countless  bright  gonfanons 
of  the  knights — white,  yellow,  blue,  and  crimson — a  field 
of  tulips  on  a  ground  of  steel,  while  here  and  there,  as  a 
baron  gallops  across  the  plain  with  a  message  or  an  order, 
we  see  a  bright  banner  cross  the  grey  thicket  of  lance 
heads,  rising  and  falling  like  a  scarlet  bird  winging  swiftly 
through  a  copse. 

Who  could  look  unmoved  on  such  a  spectacle  ? 

Certainly  not  Bertran  de  Born.  Full  of  martial  spirit 
and  poetic  feeling,  his  mind  as  well  as  his  eye  drinks  in 
the  glory  and  beauty  of  the  scene.  His  brain  becomes 
another  muster  field.  Martial  thoughts  assemble  there  in 
troops  ;  bold  feelings  hurry  together  in  squadrons,  bran- 
dishing sword  and  lance.  The  host  throng  and  crowd, 
fiercely  surging  to  and  fro  in  a  tumult  of  eager  purposes, 
lyittle  by  little  the  lines  are  formed,  the  knights  range 
themselves,  the  trumpet  sounds,  the  spurs  strike  deep,  the 
charge  is  launched  like  a  whirlwind,  and  to  the  beat  of 
hoofs  and  clang  of  steel  the  poet's  fiery  musings  leap  into 
utterance  in  a  battle-song  : 


'a 


I  love  the  blithesome  Eastertide, 

That  brings  the  leaves  and  flowers  back  : 
I  love  the  merry  birds  that  glide 
Through  blooming  copses,  with  no  lack 
Of  gaj'  and  happy  singing  ; 
I  love  to  see  fair  tents  arrayed 
Across  the  meadow  and  the  glade, 
And  then,  while  spurs  are  stinging. 
To  see,  with  gonfanons  displayed. 
The  armored  knights  and  steeds  parade. 


Bertran  de  Born  239 

'T  is  pleasant  when  the  scout  and  guide 

Drive  herds  and  people  from  their  track, 
And  when  behind  them  swiftly  ride 
A  host  of  lances  to  attack, 
Like  eagles  fiercely  winging  ; 

'T  is  pleasant  when  assaults  are  made, 
Walls  broken,  garrisons  dismayed, — 
Fresh  soldiers  ever  springing, 
And  no  attacking  knight  afraid 
To  try  the  ditch  and  palisade. 

We  see  the  work  of  strength  and  pride, 

Swords,  maces,  helmets  blue  and  black, 
And  broken  shields  on  every  side  ; 

Brave  struggling  knights  that  hew  and  hack, 
And  horses  madly  flinging 
The  wounded  riders  they  obeyed  ; 
While  all  the  men  of  noble  grade 
Their  brands  and  axes  swinging. 

Lop  arms  and  heads,  unmoved,  unstayed, — 
Defeat  not  death  should  one  evade. 

I  prize  no  meat  or  drink  beside 

The  cry  "  On,  on  !  "  from  throats  that  crack  ; 
The  neighs  when  frightened  steeds  run  wide, 
A  riderless  and  frantic  pack. 
And  set  the  forest  ringing  ; 
The  calls  "  Help,  help  !  "  ;  the  warriors  laid 
Beside  the  moat  with  brows  that  fade. 
To  grass  and  stubble  clinging  ; 
And  then  the  bodies,  past  all  aid. 
Still  pierced  with  broken  spear  or  blade. 

Come,  barons,  haste  ye,  bringing 
Your  vassals  for  the  daring  raid  ; 
Risk  all,  and  let  the  game  be  played  !  " 


XXXVI 

HAUTEFORT   AND    ROCAMADOUR 
Bertran  de  Born  {Concluded) 

THE  conditions  of  the  world  about  him  gav^e  Bertran 
de  Born  precisely  the  right  field  for  his  peculiar 
talents.  In  the  first  place,  as  Luchaire  says,  it  was  ex- 
tremely difficult  in  the  vast  fief  of  Aquitaine  to  prevent 
the  rise  of  local  sovereignties,  and  the  nobles  were  con- 
stantly struggling  for  a  quasi  independence.  Viscounts 
of  ability  made  themselves  as  good  as  counts  ;  and  the 
great  lords,  whenever  a  few  of  them  chose  to  combine, 
could  take  the  field  against  the  duke  himself.  The  result 
was,  that  while  the  rest  of  the  Midi  was  comparativeh' 
quiet  unless  the  rival  houses  of  Toulouse  and  Aragon  fell 
out,  Aquitaine  was  constantly  the  seat  of  open  or  smoul- 
dering war. 

In  the  next  place  Richard,  when  he  became  count 
(1169)  and  duke  (1179),'  resolved  upon  making  his 
authority  respected  ;  and  his  measures  though  just  were 
extremel}-  harsh.  Revolt  was  always  in  the  air,  like 
thunder  on  a  sultr}'  day  ;  and  Eble  V.  of  Ventadorn, — 
Maria's  husband,  Talairan  of  Comborn, — Guischarda's 
husband,  and  the  lords  of  Angoulenie,  Perigueux,  and 
other  fiefs  were  plotting  revolt  or  taking  up  arras  almost 
constantly  for  a  long  time. 

Another  complication  grew  out  of  the  political  relations 
of  the  region  as  a  whole.     Aquitaine  and  Poitou  were 

240 


Bertran  de  Born  241 

Eleanor's  patrimony,  and,  when  she  married  Henrj-  II., 
fell  to  the  English  crown ;  but  Henry  himself  paid  homage 
to  France  for  all  his  possessions  in  that  country,  and, 
whenever  English  rule  weighed  heavily  upon  their  necks, 
the  nobles  were  tempted  to  consider  themselves  the  direct 
vassals  of  Eouis  or  Philippe. 

England  and  France,  too,  had  endless  causes  for  jeal- 
ousy and  conflict.  Intrigue  never  slept  and  war  seldom 
closed  both  its  eyes.  A  solid  peace  was  practically  im- 
possible ;  and  while  these  two  powers  were  incessantly 
struggling  to  outplay  or  outfight  each  other,  the  barons 
of  Aquitaine,  owing  allegiance  to  both,  lived  in  a  state 
of  chronic  unrest. 

All  these  conditions  were  aggravated  by  Henry's  do- 
mestic troubles.  Aquitaine  recognized  Eleanor  as  its 
hereditary  chief,  and  when  she  came  to  be  ignored  there 
by  Henry  as  one  result  of  the  family  quarrel,  she  had  the 
sympathy  of  her  subjects  and  Henry  their  ill-will. 

More  potent  still  as  a  cause  of  trouble  were  the  con- 
stant feuds  between  Henry  and  his  sons.  Henr}-,  says 
Giraldus  Cambrensis,  "  was  the  kindest  of  fathers  to  his 
legitimate  children  during  their  childhood  and  youth,  but 
as  they  advanced  in  years  looked  on  them  with  an  evil 
eye,  treating  them  worse  than  a  stepfather  ;  and  although 
he  had  such  distinguished  and  illustrious  sons,  whether  it 
was  that  he  would  not  have  them  prosper  too  fast,  or 
whether  they  were  ill-deserving,  he  could  never  bear  to 
think  of  them  as  his  successors." 

Naturally  a  man  greedy  of  power  preferred  to  hold  it 
in  his  own  hands,  but  Henry  had  good  reasons  for  his 
policy.  It  was  his  aim  to  build  up  a  great  united  mon- 
archy, and  a  partition  of  it  among  his  children  would  have 
ruined  his  plans.  Neither  could  he  forget  that  Eleanor 
hated  him,  and  that  a  mother  was  naturally  better  loved 
than  a  king. 


242  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Finally  the  strange  demoniac  strain  of  the  blood  turned 
many  of  his  best  designs  into  mischief.  To  confirm  the 
succession  and  please  the  boy,  Henry  caused  Enric,  his 
eldest  son,  to  be  crowned  (1170),  and  at  the  coronation 
banquet  served  "  the  young  king,"  as  he  was  called  from 
that  day,  like  an  esquire  ;  but  instead  of  feeling  touched 
and  grateful,  the  prince  arrogantly  remarked  :  "  It  is  but 
right,  for  ;«j' father  is  a  king  while  his  was  only  a  count." 
Such  a  temper  could  not  fail  to  make  trouble.  "  It  is  our 
fate, ' '  said  one  of  the  sons,  ' '  that  none  of  us  should  love 
the  rest."  "  From  the  Devil  we  come  and  to  the  Devil 
we  return,"  cried  Richard  once.  Henry's  kindness  and 
forbearance  were  looked  upon  as  weakness,  his  firmness 
as  severity,  and  his  wise  policy  as  selfishness.  His  errors 
— neither  few  nor  small — were  magnified  and  his  favors 
misconstrued,  and  the  relations  of  father  and  sons  came 
to  be  saturated  with  distrust,  jealousy,  and  rivalry,  and — 
on  the  side  of  the  latter — ingratitude  and  hate. 

Precisely  how  much  influence  the  poems  of  Bertran  de 
Born  exerted  we  cannot  say,  for  the  history  is  very  ob- 
scure and  no  doubt  many — perhaps  most — of  his  pieces 
have  been  lost.''  The  Prov^engal  biography  is  emphatic  : 
"  He  was  master  when  he  pleased  of  King  Henry  of  Eng- 
land and  of  his  son";  and  this  was  the  view  held  for 
centuries  from  the  time  of  Dante  on.  Bnt  he  certainly 
possessed  no  such  power  over  the  king  ;  and  at  present 
the  tendency  is  to  deny  him  all  real  importance. 

Still  there  is  evidence  that  his  influence  was  quite  con- 
siderable. As  a  lord  he  was  no  doubt  insignificant,  and 
as  an  actual  fighter  by  no  means  a  gory  Achilles.  We 
cannot  think  of  him  as  anyway  approaching  a  powerful 
baron  like  Savaric  de  Mauleon,  for  example.  Personall)- 
and  ofiicially  he  may  fairly  be  described,  I  think,  as 
bantam-esque.  But  as  we  have  learned,  poetr}^  was  the 
newspaper  press  of  that  clay,  and  it  is  well  understood 


nS^'"*.  y 


AT  HAUTEFORT. 


243 


The  Sirvente  and  the  Joglar  245 

that  a  ven-  mean  man  may  edit  a  great  organ.  The 
count  of  Toulouse  gave  solid  testimony  to  his  power  when 
he  begged  him  for  a  poem  against  the  king  of  Aragon  ; 
and  the  king  of  Aragon  seems  to  have  done  as  much,  for 
Born  hinted  once  that  his  brother  Sanzo,  the  governor  of 
Provence,  was  eclipsing  the  king's  popularity  there,  and  we 
find  Sanzo  unaccountabl}^  removed  soon  after  from  his  post. 

But  a  simple  glance  at  the  conditions  is  convincing 
enough,  it  seems  to  me.  Consider  the  quick  and  suscep- 
tible temper  of  those  men,  their  dread  of  blame,  their  still 
greater  dread  of  ridicule,  their  intense  lov^e  of  praise,  their 
passionate  burning  for  distinction  ;  and  then  imagine  a 
sirvente  of  Born's,  fresh  and  hot,  falling  amid  a  group  of 
the  high-spirited,  proud,  brave,  and  keenly  emulous  lords. 
Remember,  too,  how  the  message  was  deliv^ered.  It  was 
not  read,  but  heard.  Neither  was  it  recited  by  a  Marquis 
of  vSalisbury,  monologuing  for  two  hours  before  a  great 
audience  without  a  gesture  ;  it  was  delivered  with  south- 
ern intensity,  and  delivered  by  an  artist  gifted  and  trained 
for  that  special  work.  The  sirvente  was  a  dagger,  and  in 
the  joglar' s  hand  it  dazzled  and  it  struck. 

"  Go,  Papiol,  ever  swift  and  running  !  "  cried  Born  to 
his  joglar  when  the  piece  had  been  taught  him  ;  and  fly- 
ing like  a  messenger  of  the  gods  Papiol  stood  in  a  castle 
hall  among  the  nobles. 

Recall  Jasmin,  the  barber  of  Agen,  reciting  his  verses 
almost  in  our  own  day,  and  picture  the  mad  enthusiasm 
of  his  audiences — the  men,  with  red  faces,  crowding  and 
shouting,  the  women  tearing  the  flowers  and  plumes  from 
their  bonnets  to  bur}-  the  poet  under  extemporised  gar- 
lands. Then  think  of  a  mediaeval  compau}',  seven  cen- 
turies younger,  untrained  in  modern  self-control,  and 
wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement  by  events 
that  have  recently  taken  place,  and  think  of  Papiol  in 
the  midst  of  them. 


246  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

It  is  not  mere  poems  like  Jasmin's  that  he  offers,  but 
counsel  on  matters  of  the  most  vital  importance  to  them- 
selves ;  not  questions  of  art,  but  questions  of  property, 
home,  wife,  and  children  ;  not  poetic  fancies,  but  mortal 
and  instant  issues  of  life  and  death.  With  blazing  in- 
tensity the  situation  is  brought  home  to  them.  Speaking 
with  impassioned  vehemence,  with  exuberant  energ}',  with 
a  fierce  heat  radiating  not  only  from  his  countenance  but 
from  his  whole  body ;  now  rising  to  his  fullest  height,  now 
almost  crouching  ;  turning  this  way  and  that  way,  darting 
toward  one  and  toward  another,  and  then  gazing  afar  as 
if  he  could  see  the  aggressor  at  his  work  ;  now  shouting 
his  loudest,  now  hissing  in  a  whisper,  panting,  catching 
his  breath,  exulting,  defiant,  contemptuous,  pathetic, 
raging,  entreating  ;  now  flinging  out  a  taunt,  now  a  word 
of  praise,  now  an  appeal,  now  a  rebuke,  now  exhortation, 
now  encouragement  ;  now  touching  on  old  resentments, 
now  promising  new  glory  ;  and  always  real,  personal, 
direct,  and  immediate  :  ' '  Thou — here — now  ;  success — 
ruin  ;  honor  —  shame  ;  triumph — subjection  ;  choose  ! 
act  !  " — thus  Papiol  delivers  his  message.  Picture  the 
scene  if  you  can,  and  you  will  not  deny,  I  think,  the  in- 
fluence of  Bertran  de  Born. 

Torches  flying  through  the  wheat-fields  at  the  tails  of 
foxes  broke  the  Roman  army  at  Capua.  The  grain  was 
ripe  in  Aquitaine,  Born  supplied  the  torch,  and  Papiol 
bore  it. 

Whatever  the  extent  of  his  influence  it  was  all  in  favor 
of  strife.  That  he  loved  contention  for  its  own  sake  we 
already  know  ;  that  he  repaid  injuries  with  joy  we  under- 
stand when  he  cries  :  "  I  never  leave  off,  in  April  or  in 
March,  seeking  for  ways  that  ill  may  come  to  those  who 
wrong  me  ' ' ;  and  now  looking  more  closely  at  his  motives 
we  discover  a  broad  and  fundamental  reason  for  his 
preaching  war. 


Bertran  cle  Born  247 

Indeed  lie  states  the  reason  himself  with  cynical  frank- 
ness. Self-interest — narrow,  mercenary  self-interest — was 
the  mainspring  of  his  policy.  Autafort,  as  I  have  said, 
was  not  a  rich  fief.  Born  is  called  in  one  of  the  Provencal 
biographies  a  viscount,  but  he  was  not  a  viscount  ;  and  a 
thousand  men  are  said  to  have  belonged  to  his  estates, 
but  probably  no  such  number  obeyed  him.  Dependent 
on  his  own  resources  he  was  only  a  rather  poor  and  rather 
insignificant  gentleman.  To  maintain  himself  in  dignity 
and  comfort  he  needed  sub.sidies  from  the  great  lords,  and 
like  others  of  his  day  was  not  afraid  to  admit  it. 

If  Richard  will  be  kiud 

And  freely  pay, 
I  '11  serve  him  to  his  mind 

In  every  way.^ 

But  the  great  lords  felt  no  burning  desire  to  impoverish 
themselves  for  the  benefit  of  men  like  Born,  and  would 
not  pay  for  aid  except  in  cases  of  necessity.  War  was 
their  time  of  need,  and  therefore  it  was  the  harvest  of 
need}'  gentlemen. 

Aggressive — say  it  not  of  me 

When  rich  men's  passions  I  excite, 
For  lesser  people  of  degree 

Exploit  them  better  if  they  fight ; 
And  when  the  war  begins,  they  are — 

I  give  my  word — 
More  cordial,  open,  and  free  by  far.-* 

In  fact  when  peace  reigned  the  rich  nobles  were  exclu- 
sive and  meanly  fond  of  enjoying  their  own  wealth — so 
the  parasite  felt — and  for  him  the  outbreak  of  hostilities 
was  a  joyous  event. 

War  begins  ;  a  boon  I  deem 

Strife  that  kindles  our  grandees, 


248  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

For  they  love  to  plant  their  trees, 
Sharing  garden,  hall,  and  stream 

With  as  few  as  they  are  able, — 
Dreading  murder  it  would  seem  ; 
But  for  war  they  'd  live  at  ease, — 
We  be  exiled  from  their  table.' 

In  other  words.  Born  was  an  unprincipled  schemer, 
selling  his  talents  for  a  price,  and  ready  to  embark  in  any 
cause,  no  matter  what  the  general  results  might  be,  if  it 
would  fill  his  coffer."  In  good  Anne's  time  he  would 
have  been  a  pamphleteer, — Daniel  Defoe,  for  example. 
He  was  not  so  great  a  liar  as  Defoe — nobody  else  could 
be,  and  Born  had  no  special  gift  in  that  waj^;  but  on  the 
other  hand,  we  cannot  discover  in  him  that  substratum 
of  principle  of  which  Defoe  maj-  at  least  be  suspected. 
Intrigtie,  personal  aims,  and  selfish  ambitions  made  up 
the  life  of  each  ;  but  Defoe  had  a  touch  of  patriotism,  and 
Born  could  never  be  accused  of  that.' 

Yet  we  must  not  judge  him  too  harshly.  He  could  not 
well  be  patriotic,  for  he  had  no  country.  Nobody  had  a 
country  then,  not  even  the  king.  There  zvas  no  cotintry. 
It  was  only  the  triumph  of  monarch  over  barons  at  a  later 
day  that  made  patriotism  possible.*  As  3-et  France  was 
only  a  loose  bundle  of  fiefs  ;  and  while  there  were  over- 
lords and  a  king,  it  was  understood  clearly  enough  that 
ev^ery  noble  was  to  live  for  himself,  warring  on  his  neigh- 
bors if  he  pleased  and  on  his  lord  if  he  dared.  Nobody 
cared  except  for  the  things  dear  to  his  own  heart  ;  and 
Born  like  many  others  had  but  one  cause,  his  narrow  self- 
interest. 

We  should  remember,  too,  that  war  as  it  was  practised 
then  was  by  no  means  a  frightful  scourge.  It  was  onlj- 
boy's  play  after  all.  The  summons  went  out  and  a  host 
of  knights  assembled.  Three  objects  were  in  view  :  to 
besiege  the  enemy's  castles,   ravage  his  territories,  and 


The  Military  World 


249 


outfight  him  if  he  were  met  in  the  field  ;  but  the  objects 
were  pursued  without  system  and  without  thoroughness. 
Strategy  was  absolutely  unknown.  There  were  no  maps, 
and  geographical  knowledge  was  meagre  and  inaccurate. 
No  attempt  was  made  to  keep  in  touch  with  an  opposing 
army.  Tactics  hardh-  existed.  If  the  two  bodies  hap- 
pened to  meet,  each  was  drawn  up  in  a  line  of  knights 


THE  OLD  GRAVEYARD,  HAUTEFORT. 


with  a  line  of  esquires  behind  it, — the  line  being  divided, 
as  a  rule,  into  three  corps.  Then  came  the  charge — a 
series  of  duels — and  finally  an  advance  of  the  reserves  if 
there  were  any."  Whichever  side  was  beaten  scampered 
off,  and  usually  had  little  difficulty  in  reaching  places  of 
security.  Forty  days  were  the  term  of  service.'"  At  the 
end  of  the  time  the  armies  broke  up,  and  the  game  was 
over  for  that  j^ear. 


250  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Of  course  there  was  bloodshed  ;  but  nothing  so  terrible 
as  a  modern  sea-fight  was  dreamed  of  then.  Of  course 
there  were  violent  deaths  ;  but  there  is  no  better  anaes- 
thetic than  excitement,  and  a  hand-to-hand  contest  is 
vastly  more  exhilarating  than  receiving  a  ball  from  some- 
body out  of  sight  a  mile  awa3^  Of  course  lives  were  cut 
short  ;  but  Frederick  the  Great  cried  to  his  fleeing  troops  : 
' '  Fools,  do  you  expect  to  live  always  ?  "  Of  course  there 
were  enmities;  but  the  enmities,  however  passionate,  were 
not  deep.  In  the  poem  of  Girart  de  Rossi! Ion,  the  king 
saj^s  of  a  baron  in  the  opposing  line  of  battle  :  "  He  is  m)^ 
foe  and  I  hate  him  right  well,  but  I  would  rather  be  he, 
with  his  good  qualities,  than  the  recognized  lord  of  four 
kingdoms. ' '  The  most  furious  war-songs  could  end  gayly 
in  compliments  to  a  lady.  Indeed,  war  did  not  even  sug- 
gest eternal  hostility.  Frequentl)^  just  as  everything 
threatened  an  era  of  wholesale  carnage,  the  wind  would 
shift,  and  the  reign  of  brotherly  love  set  in.  Men  would 
fight  as  a  convenient  way  to  bid  each  other  good-morrow, 
and  when  night  came  they  might  undress  and  sleep  in  the 
inie  bed.  Besides,  ideas  were  adjusted  to  the  thought 
of  war,  and  that  almost  compensated  for  its  ills.  In  the 
poem  just  mentioned,  Boson  exclaims  as  he  thinks  of  the 
slain  :  "I  do  not  wish  to  shed  a  tear.  We  have  all  been 
trained  and  prepared  for  such  an  end.  Not  one  of  us  had 
for  father  a  knight  who  died  at  home  or  in  a  room,  but  in 
pitched  battle  by  the  cold  steel  ;  and  I  wish  not  the  re- 
proach [of  dying  otherwise]."  Born  himself  tells  how 
men  felt  about  it.  War  approaches,  he  says,  "  And  if  I 
live  't  will  be  a  great  good  fortune,  and  if  I  die,  a  great 
deliverance." 

All  these  reflections,  of  whatever  sort,  focus  themselves 
on  the  region  about  Autafort  and  the  .spring  of  1183. 

The  troubles  in  Henry  the  Second's  family  were  plainly 
nearing   a   climax.       Enric,    disgusted    with    his    empty 


Bertran  de  Born  251 

name — "the  young  king" — and  the  mere  prospect  of 
some  day  wielding  a  sceptre,  demanded  a  share  of  actual 
power — the  possession  of  a  realm.  Richard  was  the  duke 
of  Aquitaine,  why  should  not  he  be  the  duke  of  Nor- 
mandy ?  His  father,  doubtless  remembering  Enric's 
high-headedness,  refused  this  request,  but  he  provided 
him  the  means  for  living  in  greater  state,  and  promised 
that  his  brothers  should  recognize  his  claim  to  the  succes- 
sion by  paying  him  homage.  This,  however,  Richard 
flatl}'  refused  to  do,  calling  himself  a  direct  vassal  of  the 
French  crown,  and  of  course  trouble  between  the  two 
brothers  was  the  coTisequence.  Still  other  causes  of 
offence  existed  :  Richard  had  built  a  castle  at  Clarasval 
(Clairvaux)  on  land  belonging  to  Enric,  and  Richard's 
nobles,  chafed  by  the  severity  of  "  Yes-and-No,"  as  Born 
called  him,  had  offered  Enric  the  lordship  of  Aquitaine. 

Born  w^as  on  the  alert  and  sent  his  joglar  forth  with  a 
song  : 

Papiol,  to  the  young  king  haste, 

And  let  him  know 
That  too  much  sleep  suits  not  my  taste." 

But  the  exhortation  was  hardly  necessary.  Enric  gladly 
accepted  the  proposal  of  the  nobles  and  leagued  himself 
with  Born  and  the  rest  for  the  overthrow  of  Richard, 
whereupon  the  exulting  troubadour  sang  the  slogan  of 
the  conspirac}^  and — to  deepen  the  strife — reminded  Enric 
sharply  of  his  brother's  aggression  : 

Full  in  the  plain  at  Clarasval  there  stands 
A  handsome  castle,  built  not  long  ago  ; 

And  I  would  not  the  young  king  see  it,  deeming 
This  deed  a  thing  he  would  not  care  to  know  ; 

But  much  I  fear — so  white  the  walls  are  gleaming — 
He  may  discern  it  from  Matafelo.'- 

Everything    promised    a   glorious    conflagration  ;    but 
Henry,  coming  from  England  with  an  army,  imposed  a 


252  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

peace  and  induced  the  brothers  to  be  reconciled.  At  the 
bidding  of  his  father,  Richard  gave  up  Clarasval  ;  and 
Enric,  the  young  king,  was  constrained  to  moderate  his 
pretensions  and  abandon  the  rebellious  nobles.  The 
conspiracy  was  now  without  a  head.  All  Born's  expecta- 
tions were  dashed  ;  and  he  like  the  rest  looked  forward 
with  little  pleasure  to  the  sure  vengeance  of  Richard, 
"  the  wild  boar."  So  a  bitter  sirvente  was  going  the 
rounds  without  loss  of  time  : 

My  thought  will  torture  me  till  I  have  sped  it, — 
So  much  I  burn  to  utter  and  to  spread  it; 
My  wrath  is  great,  and  reasous  good  have  fed  it : 
Enric  preferred  a  claim,  and  then  unsaid  it 
Because  his  father  bade  him  when  he  read  it ; 

"Constrained  "—poor  thing  ! 
Landless,  nor  asking  land,  though  fain  to  tread  it, 

Be  he  the  vagrants'  king !  '^ 

Stung  to  madness,  it  would  seem,  by  such  taunts,  Enric 
broke  the  peace  that  had  just  been  sworn,  and  placed  him- 
self at  the  head  of  the  barons  again.  War  broke  out  in 
earnest  then,  and  Born,  singing  a  new  battle-song  at 
Enric's  bidding,  exhorted  the  young  prince  to  imitate  the 
glorious  Charlemagne. 

The  king  that  for  his  due  will  fight 
Can  claim  his  own  with  double  right  ; 

Charles  hath  left  a  deathless  story 
Because  he  broke  the  Spaniards'  might ; 
And  kings  that  give  and  strive  and  smite. 

Earn  and  have  unending  glor}-.'^ 

But  once  more  the  troubadour's  expectations  met  with 
shipwreck,  and  far  greater  interests  than  his  went  down 
in  the  billows.  With  both  his  father  and  his  brother 
to  fight,  Enric  found  himself  desperately  overmatched. 
His  treasury  failed,  and  he  could  pay  his  troops  only  bj' 
robbing  the  churches  and  monasteries.     Few  things  were 


Rocamadour  253 

holy  in  the  eyes  of  his  mercenaries  ;  yet  one  place  at  least 
we  should  have  thought  far  too  sacred  for  profanation,  the 
hallowed  pilgrim-church,  the  miracle-working  shrine  of 
Rocamadour  ;  but  even  these  were  plundered,  and  the 
very  sword  of  Roland  was  carried  away. 

But  Rocamadour  proved  able  to  avenge  if  not  able  to 
protect  itself"  Founded,  as  tradition  held,  by  Zacchaeus 
the  PubHcan,  it  occupied  a  peculiar  place  in  the  venera- 
tion of  the  faithful.  The  celestial  powers  were  felt  to  be 
ever  present  there  in  a  very  special  sense.  Indeed  Omnipo- 
tence maj-  well  have  seemed  to  inhabit  the  spot,  for  the  print 
of  His  foot  seems  graven  there  now.  As  we  journey  acro.ss 
the  level  and  monotonous  plains  there  suddenly  breaks 
upon  us  a  new  wonder, — a  valley  without  mountains,  a 
vast  gash  in  the  earth.  Up  from  the  bottom  grows  a 
precipice,  out  of  the  precipice  one  narrow  street  full  of 
houses,  out  of  the  houses  a  cliff,  out  of  the  cliff  a  cloud  of 
chapels  and  sanctuaries,  out  of  these  a  dizzy,  overhanging 
crag,  and  out  of  the  crag  the  walls  and  battlements  and 
towers  of  a  castle.  Sanctity  so  deeply  revered  and  so 
visibly  attested,  could  not  fail  to  retaliate  upon  the 
desperate  rebel  who  violated  its  holiness.  He  was  aihng 
when  he  came,  he  was  in  a  fever  when  he  departed;  a  few 
days  more,  and  "  the  young  king  "  was  dead.'° 

The  fallen  prince  was  neither  a  great  nor  a  good  man. 
He  proved  himself  capable  of  ingratitude,  insubordination, 
frivolity,  recklessness,  falsehood,  and  perjury,  and  a  noble 
act  has  not  been  recorded  to  his  credit  ;  but  on  the  other 
hand,  all  the  arts  and  graces  fitted  to  excite  admiration 
and  win  popularity  were  his  by  nature.  "  In  peace," 
wrote  Giraldus  Cambrensis,  "  In  peace  and  in  private  life 
he  was  courteous,  affable,  quiet,  and  amiable,  kindly  in- 
dulgent to  those  by  whom  he  chanced  to  be  offended,  and 
far  more  disposed  to  forgive  than  to  punish  the  offenders." 
"  He  considered  that  he  had  lost  a  day  when  he  had  not 


254  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

secured  the  attachment  of  many  [whether  good  or  bad], 
by  various  acts  of  liberality,  and  bound  them  to  him,  body 
and  soul,  by  multiplied  favors."  In  the  tournament  he 
outshone  all  ;  and  in  battle,  though  not  equal  to  Richard, 
he  was  described  by  Giraldus  as  "  a  thunderbolt  winged 
with  lightning,  the  only  hope  and  fear  of  all." 

Qualities  like  these — especially  his  liberality — fascinated 
the  world  in  which  the  young  prince  moved,  and  his 
miserable  death  aroused  universal  grief.  Born,  too,  felt 
the  blow  and  felt  it  intensely,  for  not  only  were  all  his 
fortunes  enlisted  with  Euric,  but — in  place  of  Defoe's 
lurking  patriotism — he  seems  to  have  felt  a  touch  of  real 
affection  for  his  leader,  the  one  spark  of  genuine  disinter- 
ested feeling  that  brightens  his  character.  In  passionate 
grief  he  cried  :  "  The  world  and  all  in  it  I  value  not  a 
besant  nor  the  blow  of  an  acorn,"  and  with  all  his  power 
he  chanted  the  prince's  dirge." 

With  this  melancholy  event  the  epic  of  Bertran  de  Born 
ends.  The  collapse  of  Enric's  plans  left  Richard  only  the 
work  of  punishing  the  conspirators.  Autafort  was  be- 
sieged, and  after  a  week  of  fighting  Born  surrendered, — 
either  because  he  could  resist  no  longer  or  because  he  did 
not  wish  to  exasperate  the  duke  ;  but  in  the  end  by  hum- 
ble and  even  fawning  submission  and  promises  of  devotion 
he  recovered  his  castle.  From  this  point  he  was  Richard's 
partisan,  and  sang  as  such  from  time  to  time  on  the 
events  of  the  day, — on  Richard's  wars  with  Toulouse  and 
France,  on  his  captivity  and  return,  and  on  the  crusade. 
Warned  b}'  experience  he  kept  out  of  conspiracies  and 
w^ars  himself,  though  he  endeavored  still  to  light  the  torch 
for  others  ;  and  gradually  he  sank  back  into  his  natural 
obscurity.     His  great  achievement  had  been  accomplished. 

What  an  achievement  it  was  !  How  glorious  to  help  on 
the  deadly  quarrels  of  brother  against  brother,  of  sons 
against  father  ;  and  how  noble  were  the  results  of  their 


ROCAMADOUR. 


'■OD 


Bertran  de  Born  257 

feuds  :  the  dying  prince,  in  an  agony  of  contrition,  order- 
ing himself  clad  in  sackcloth,  with  a  rope  about  his  neck, 
and  placed  on  a  heap  of  ashes  with  a  stone  at  his  feet 
and  a  stone  at  his  head  ;  and  the  father,  the  mighty  and 
splendid  Henry  II.,  undone  by  the  rebellions  and  intrigues 
of  his  sons,  expiring  in  shame  and  misery,  and  left — 
plundered  b}-  servants  as  faithless  as  his  children — alone 
and  naked  in  his  chamber  of  death. 

Did  the  troubadour  feel  remorse  ?  " 

We  cannot  say ;  but  we  know  that  only  two  years  after 
Bernart  de  Ventadorn  entered  the  quiet  shelter  of  Dalon, 
Bertran  de  Born  was  pacing  to  and  fro  in  the  same  cloister. 
For  nineteen  5'ears  he  ate  the  pulse  and  drank  the  water 
of  a  monk,'-'  and  then  (1215)  we  read  of  an  eighth  candle 
burned  in  the  sepulchre  of  St.  Martial  at  Limoges  for  the 
repose  of  his  departed  spirit. 

But  we  have  a  glimpse  beyond  the  tomb.  ' '  I  saw  in 
truth,"  so  Dante  wrote,  "  I  saw  in  truth  and  still  I  seem 
to  see  it,  a  trunk  without  a  head  going  along  even  as  the 
others  of  the  dismal  flock  were  going.  And  it  was  hold- 
ing the  severed  head  by  its  hair,  dangling  in  his  hand  like 
a  lantern.  And  it  gazed  on  us  and  said,  '  Oh  me  !  '  Of 
itself  it  was  making  for  itself  a  lamp,  and  they  were  two 
in  one  and  one  in  two  ; — how  it  can  be.  He  knows  who  so 
ordains.  When  it  was  just  at  the  foot  of  the  bridge  it  lifted 
its  arm  high  with  the  whole  head  in  order  to  approach  its 
words  to  us,  which  were  :  '  Now  see  the  dire  punishment, 
thou  that — breathing — goest  seeing  the  dead  ;  see  thou  if 
any  other  is  great  as  this  !  And  that  thou  mayest  carry 
news  of  me,  know  that  I  am  Bertran  de  Born,  he  that 
gave  to  the  young  king  the  ill  encouragements.'  "  '° 

So,  because  he  divided  those  whom  nature  united,  the 
troubadour  of  Autafort  was  himself  divided,  and  had  his 
everlasting  portion  beyond  the  dread  gate  where  hope  is 
left  behind.^' 


XXXVII 

EXCIDEUIL 
Guiraut  de  Borneil 

WE  have  now  travelled  far,  and  it  will  not  be  time 
wasted  to  recall  some  of  the  troubadours  we  have 
met. 

The  chief  poets  who  lived  beyond  the  Rhone  were  Raim- 
baut  de  Vaqueiras  the  Knight,  Raimbaut  d'Aurenga  the 
Gallant,  and  Biatritz,  countess  of  Dia,  the  Sappho  of  Pro- 
vence. At  ill-fated  Beziers  we  found  Arnaut  de  Maruelh 
the  Sentimental  worshipping  the  countess  of  Burlatz,  and 
a  little  to  the  north,  in  stony  Anduze,  Sain  Circ  the  So- 
ciety Man  paying  his  addresses  to  the  ambitious  Clara. 

At  the  southern  corner  of  Troubadour-land  King  Amfos 
the  Eordly  received  us  at  Barcelona,  while  Sordel  the  Ad- 
venturer came  from  Italy  to  meet  us  on  our  way  back. 
Vidal  the  Eccentric  it  is  hard  to  fix  in  any  spot,  but  we 
accept  him  with  Carcassonne,  near  Peire  d'Alvernhe  the 
Pioneer  at  Puivert,  Rogier  the  Prim  at  Narbonne,  and 
Cabestaing  the  Romantic  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees. 
Toulouse,  the  birthplace  not  only  of  Vidal  but  of  Peire 
Raimon  the  Graceful  and  of  Peguilha  the  Thoughtful, 
reminded  us  yet  more  of  Folquet  the  Fanatic. 

As  we  journeyed  toward  Auvergne  we  passed  Miraval 
the  Spark  and  the  reprobate  Monk  of  Montaudon  on  the 
way,  but  once  in  the  mountains  found  ourselves  in  differ- 
ent company.     There  were  Cardinal  the  Juvenal  of  the 

258 


Excideuil  259 

Middle  Ages,  Sain  lyeidier  the  Gentleman,  and  Pons  the 
Ideal.  There,  too,  lived  the  brave  Dalfin  and  the  clever 
Peirol. 

Ventadorn  made  us  acquainted  with  Bernart  the  Lover, 
and  Uzerche  with  Faidit  the  Fleshly.  Hautelbrt,  the 
home  of  Born  the  Pamphleteer,  we  have  just  left  ;  and 
although  we  have  not  j-et  visited  Riberac,  we  alreadj' 
know  Daniel  the  Word-smith  who  came  from  there.  The 
tale  is  nearly  told,  but  the  shadow  of  a  great  figure  still 
darkens  our  path,  and  just  here  we  encounter  another 
of  the  poets — one  of  the  foremost — called  in  his  own  time 
the  "  Master  of  the  Troubadours."  ' 

The  region  to  the  west  of  Hautefort  seems  to  have  been 
used  b}^  the  ice-floes  for  a  general  dumping-ground. 
Standing  on  one  of  the  round  hills  we  see  a  flat  and  level 
horizon  as  at  sea.  As  at  sea,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  there 
are  waves  anywhere  except  just  about  us  ;  but,  journey- 
ing on  and  on,  we  find  it  still  the  same — always  going  up 
only  to  come  down  again,  and  always  going  down  only  to 
come  up  again.  It  is  not  a  rich  country-,  and  great  spaces 
hide  with  tattered  bushes,  as  best  they  can,  the  ugly 
ravages  of  the  wood-cutters. 

In  the  midst  of  this  region  we  come  upon  the  pleasant 
little  village  of  Excideuil,  bright  because  of  its  creamy 
stone,  and  clean  because  there  is  very  little  to  soil  it.  A 
short  way  from  the  houses  one  of  those  flat  ledges,  wdiere 
the  rock  was  too  hard  and  stubborn  for  rain  and  frost  to 
break,  rises  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  above  the  fields,  and 
upon  it  stands  the  broken  donjon  of  Excideuil, — a  stern, 
uncompromising,  unrelenting  fragment  of  the  Middle 
Ages. 

Eet  us  go  back  to  one  of  the  days  when  the  old  ruin  was 
in  its  prime.  It  is  a  bright  spring  morning  not  long  after 
Easter  in  the  year  St.  Francis  opened  his  eyes  at  Assisi 


26o 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


(1182).  In  yonder  meadows  a  mailed  host  is  gathering 
like  the  one  we  saw  just  now,  and  preparing  to  attack  the 
castle,  and  we  feel  again  the  wonderful  beauty  and  the 
contagious  enthusiasm  of  such  an  assemblage.  This  time, 
however,  we  forget  the  host  and  watch  its  leader.  There 
is  no  mistaking  who  commands  :  a  man  just  above  the 
medium  height,  finely  formed,  and  of  more  than  lordly 
presence.  Before  long  he  will  put  on  his  armor — almost 
exactly  like  Bertran  de  Born's  except  that  helmets  are 

now  made  round  in- 
stead of  pointed  ;  but 
at  present  he  rides 
gayly  through  the 
ranks  in  an  easier 
dress.  He  is  very  fair 
of  complexion,  his 
cheeks  look  ros\',  and 
hair  of  a  golden  red 
can  be  seen  below  his 
cap.  He  wears  a  full 
beard,  but  it  is  ver}- 
closely  trimmed;  and 
his  arms — long,  sup- 
ple, and  sinewy — help 
to  explain  his  extra- 
ordinary expertness  with  the  sword. 

His  bliaut  of  rose-colored  silk  ornamented  with  rows  of 
silver  crescents,  and  a  scarlet  cap  embroidered  with  birds 
and  beasts  in  gold,  give  him  the  look  of  a  gallant  rather 
than  a  soldier,  but  the  sternest  of  the  knights  treat  him 
with  absolute  deference.  And  well  they  may,  for  this 
blonde  captain  is  the  famous  champion  that  has  appeared 
so  often  on  our  stage,  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion,  the  duke  of 
Aquitaine,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  wild  valor  of  his  onset 
will  force  the  castle  to  yield." 


FROM    RICHARD'S   SEAL    (1195). 


Guiraut  de  Borneil  261 

But  for  us  Excideuil  has  an  association  even  more  glori- 
ous than  this,  for  it  was  the  birthplace  of  Guiraut  de 
Borneil,  whom  we  may  christen  the  Scholar  of  the  trouba- 
dours. 

Guiraut's  birth  was  of  the  lowliest,  but  somehow  he 
obtained  an  education  and  a  taste  for  studj-  that  never  left 
him.  Neither  Vidal's  longing  for  fame  nor  Faidit's  neces- 
sities nor  Sain  Circ's  fondness  for  ga}-  society,  neither  am- 
bition nor  a  taste  for  pleasure  nor  even  love  drew  him  to 
the  poet's  life  ;  but  he  approached  his  calling  maturely  by 
the  avenues  of  quiet  thought,  and  it  was  the  urgency  of 
friends  that  led  him  through  the  portal  of  his  career.' 

Nor  even  love,  I  said,  but  love  soon  came,  and  it  was 
courtly,  high-minded,  and  poetic  like  himself. 

My  bliss  o'erflows,  when  I  recall  the  fair 

And  boundless  joy  that  holds  my  loyalty  ; 
Two  days  ago  I  saw  a  garden  where 

Sweet  flowers  bloomed  and  birds  made  melody  ; 
And  when  I  entered  that  delightful  place. 
The  lily-blossom  showed  her  beauteous  face, 
And  won  my  eyes  and  won  my  true  affection  ; 
And  since  that  hour  I  know  and  think  of  naught 
Except  the  one  whose  favor  I  have  sought. 

For  her  I  sing,  nor  even  tears  forbear  ; 

And  my  desire  hath  such  a  purit)' 
That  sighs  and  worship  and  full  oft  a  prayer 

Fly  toward  the  spot  where  shone  her  face  on  me  ; 
I  bow  and  thank  this  flower  of  Adam's  race 
Who  conquers  me  with  such  a  winsome  grace. 
For  she  possesses  every  bright  perfection, — 
High-born  yet  kindly,  she  hath  sweetly  caught 
All  courtly  charms,  all  beauty  of  speech  and  thought.^ 

It  was  Escaronha,  a  noble  lady  of  Gascony '  who  inspired 
this  rapture,  and  she  returned  the  poet's  love, — at  least  he 
believed  that  she  did.     But  that  did  not  ensure  happiness. 


262  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Borneil's  humble  origin  could  not  be  forgotten,  and  no- 
body seemed  to  think  a  man  like  him  entitled  to  be  a 
courtly  lover.  If  he  appeared  happy,  they  called  him  a 
coxcomb  and  turned  up  their  eyes  to  mock  him.  If  he 
looked  proud,  as  a  hopeful  suitor  should,  they  declared 
that  he  was  putting  on  the  airs  of  a  lord.  Escaronha — let 
us  not  blame  her — shared  the  prejudices  of  her  class  ;  and 
while  she  could  not  fail  to  admire  the  gifted  troubadour  or 
value  the  distinction  his  poems  conferred  upon  her,  .she 
always  felt  that  she  lowered  herself  to  care  for  him. 

Incessant  jangling  made  up  the  history  of  their  love, 
and  the  poet's  lines  give  us  the  variations  of  this  unhappy 
tune.  More  than  once  Borneil  had  .seen  a  tower,  begun 
with  a  single  stone,  grow  up  until  finally  it  was  ready  to 
be  furnished  and  equipped  ;  and  so  he  resolved  to  love 
and  hope,  to  strive  and  plead,  confident  that  in  the  end 
success  would  come.  But  "  one  oft  sows  his  seed  fairly 
and  well,  yet  has  no  harvest  therefrom,"  he  sang  once, 
and  in  this  field  his  only  harvest  was  a  ring  and  several 
broken  promises.  When  he  prayed  for  something  more 
substantial,  his  lady  called  him  unworthy  and  taunted 
him  with  his  low  birth.  Borneil  was  patient,  for  he  held 
that  "  the  suitor  who  is  easih'  provoked  knows  little  of 
love  ' ' ;  but  after  a  while  he  retorted  angril}'  that  she  was 
fickle  and  frivolous  ;  and  then  she  ordered  him  off.  Per- 
fectly wretched  he  went  away  and  sang  bitterly  :  "  All 
was  fair  and  sweet  and  peaceful  in  my  life  the  da}'  love 
entered  nn-  heart,  for  I  loved  not  and  was  not  loved,  and 
I  was  ignorant  of  the  ill  and  pain  of  love  ;  but  now  I  know 
not  what  is,  nor  what  is  to  come,  for  I  love  one  who  cares 
nothing  for  me. ' ' 

But  Escaronha  did  not  wish  him  to  leave  her — perhaps 
in  reality  she  did  care,  and  certainly  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
be  extolled  by  a  gifted  troubadour — and  presently  a  con- 
fidant of  hers  approached  our  poor  Borneil.     By  this  time 


Guiraut  de  Borneil  263 

he  was  ready  for  any  sacrifice,  ' '  more  desperate  from  ex- 
cess of  love,"  as  he  said  of  himself,  "  than  a  ship  drifting 
in  distress  over  the  sea,  beaten  b}-  winds  and  waves." 
The  confidant  offered  to  obtain  peace  on  the  condition 
that  he  should  do  exactly  as  his  lad}^  wished  and  never 
complain  again,  and  on  these  terms  a  reconciliation  was 
made.  "  One  evening  heals  the  quarrel  of  a  j^ear,"  cried 
the  troubadour  ;  and  at  such  a  time  Escaronha  once  per- 
mitted him  a  kiss. 

Perhaps  it  was  not  a  day  before  someone  alluded  slight- 
ingly to  the  "  low-born"  Guiraut.  In  an  instant  the  lady's 
pride  was  in  arms  against  her  lover,  and  his  warm  temper 
again  took  up  the  challenge.  "  How  many  times,"  he 
sang  afterward,  "  how  manj'  times  has  a  foolish  word 
taken  joy  from  my  very  hands  :  it  is  that  which  makes 
me  gre}'."  And  so  there  was  another  quarrel  to  patch 
up. 

One  da}^  in  a  blissful  moment  Escaronha  gave  him  an 
unusual  token,  her  glove,  "  upon  which,"  we  are  told,"  he 
lived  gay  and  glad  a  long  while,"  alluding  to  it  many 
times  in  his  poems.  But  somehow  the  glove  was  lost  and 
she  knew  it  ;  so,  when  he  complained  again  of  her  coy 
behavior,  she  fell  into  a  great  passion  over  the  loss  and 
insisted  that  he  was  vmtrue.  That  created  still  another 
difference,  and  Borneil  had  to  make  humble  terms  again 
by  the  aid  of  the  confidant.''  "  He  that  loves  too  much," 
he  said,  "  is  loved  too  little." 

Finally  the  end  came.  Escaronha  had  assured  the 
troubadour,  giving  him  both  her  hands,  ungloved,  "  You 
shall  never  be  deceived  by  me  ' ' ;  but  his  low  rank  out- 
weighed everything  else,  and  she  di.smissed  him  for  good 
and  all.  "  The  bond  which  I  thought  held  us  both  binds 
her  not, ' '  cried  Borneil. 

Disappointments  and  catastrophes  often  seem  to  change 
people,  but  in  reality  only  bring  them  out  ;  and  Borneil's 


264 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


conduct  at  this  time  reveals  his  true  character.  "  With- 
out a  mistress  will  I  be  so  long  as  I  live,"  he  sang  ;  "  if  I 
have  not  you,  I  will  have  none."  A  pretty  shepherdess 
proposed  to  console  him,  but  he  declined  the  offer.  "  She 
has  been  to  me  a  guide  to  virtue,  for  in  her  I  found  a 
courtly  companion  and  real  love  ;  and  as  she  truly  loved 


THE    RUINS   OF   THE   CASTLE,    EXCIDEUIL. 


me  she  has  led  me  to  virtue,  and  even  yet  her  influence  is 
so  powerful  within  me  and  of  such  a  kind,  that  evil  no 
longer  touches  me  and  I  can  withstand  all  base  allure- 
ments." '  From  this  high  plane  Borneil  never  descended. 
Transforming  his  passion  like  Cardinal  instead  of  trying 
to  suppress  it  like  Folquet,  he  devoted  his  life  to  duty  and 


The  World  of  Study  265 

to  art.  He  never  married,  and  he  never  loved  again;  and 
the  gains  of  his  profession,  bej-ond  his  own  needs,  were 
divided  between  his  relatives  and  the  church  of  his  native 
place. 

Yet  he  found  life  by  no  means  desolate.  His  winters 
were  spent  in  the  schools,  and  through  the  summer,  at- 
tended by  two  joglars  to  play  and  sing  his  pieces — for  his 
own  voice  was  poor — he  journeyed  from  castle  to  castle 
and  from  palace  to  palace.  To  receive  and  to  give,  acqui- 
sition and  production, — these  were  the  systole  and  diastole 
of  his  life.  They  were  enough  to  keep  the  current  fresh 
and  strong,  and  it  is  worth  our  while  to  follow  him  a  little 
way  in  both  phases  of  his  work. 

We  are  greatly  mistaken  if  we  fancy  there  were  no  stu- 
dents and  no  love  for  study  at  that  day.  Method,  not 
zeal,  was  the  lack.  Everything  was  done  in  the  hardest 
and  the  least  productive  way.  As  we  learn  from  Flamcnca, 
the  memory  was  aided  by  harshly  rubbing  the  spine  or 
digging  one's  finger-nails  into  the  pupil's  hands.  Guibert 
de  Nogent  relates  how  the  master  beat  him  at  school  till 
his  arms  were  black  and  his  little  shoulders  covered  with 
welts  ;  and  yet,  for  all  that,  he  told  his  troubled  and  weep- 
ing mother,  "  I  would  rather  die  than  cease  learning  let- 
ters." Many  others  were  like  him.  Multitudes  of 
wandering  students,  half-lettered  vagabonds,  roamed  over 
the  countrj'  as  fancy  led  or  the  hope  of  a  living  invited 
them,  singing  Latin  .songs  on  wine  and  women  with  no 
courtly  reticence,"  and  serving  prelates  almost  as  joglars 
served  barons.  This  enthusiasm  for  knowledge  gave  ri.se 
to  the  universities.  Bologna  received  its  charter  (1158) 
when  Borneil  was  twenty  years  old  or  about  that,  and 
Paris  assumed  a  definite  shape  (1202)  while  he  still  was 
singing. 

The  life  of  students  was  inexpressibly'  noble,  mean, 
laughable,  and  pathetic.     John  of  Anville,  a  Ci-stercian 


266  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

monk,  pictures  tlie  student  of  Paris  in  his  poem  Archi- 
trenius.  A  shabb}-,  antiquated  costume — the  same  for  all 
seasons,  the  same  for  day  and  night — clothed  a  meagre 
body  fed  on  peas,  beans,  and  cabbage.  His  dark  skin 
matched  his  dull  eyes.  Almost  no  care  was  taken  of  his 
miserable  room — if  he  lived  in  a  room — -and  through 
the  hours  of  night,  suffering  miserably  from  insomnia,  he 
tossed  on  a  hard  mattress  raised  but  little  above  the  floor. 
Yet  in  spite  of  everything  the  lectures  were  thronged,  and 
the  hill  of  St.  Genevieve  was  white  with  tents. 

The  results  were  meagre  enough.  Manj^  of  the  stu- 
dents, revolting  from  their  drudgery,  gave  themselves  up 
to  riot.  Many  perished  from  the  hazards  of  such  an  ex- 
istence. Many  others,  unable  to  find  support  for  even  so 
cheap  a  life,  were  compelled  to  abandon  study,  and  re- 
corded their  regret  and  their  sufferings — the  insufficient 
food,  the  cloak  too  thin  to  keep  warmth  in  their  bodies — 
in  pathetic  Latin  stanzas.  The  enthusiasm  went  wrong, 
too,  for  the  interest  in  dialectic  scholasticism  caused 
such  a  decline  in  general  learning  that  Vincent  de  Beau- 
vais  felt  he  must  compile  an  encyclopaedia  to  counteract 
the  tendency.  And  at  best,  after  all  his  perils,  privations, 
and  plodding,  the  student  usually  carried  away  with  him 
little  more  than  dimming  recollections  of  lectures,  and  a 
book  or  two  on  which  to  meditate  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

Yet  the  spirit  of  study  was  abroad,  and  some  good  work 
was  done.  John  of  Salisbury  tells  us,  for  example,  how 
William  of  Conches  taught  Latin  at  Chartres  during  the 
second  quarter  of  the  twelfth  century  with  extreme  thor- 
oughness.' Students  already  resorted  to  Montpellier,  and 
the  abbey  of  St.  IMartial  at  Limoges  was  a  centre  of  liter- 
ary activity.'"  There  was  a  good  school  at  Aurillac  also, 
as  we  remember.  Many  such  academies  were  connected 
with  the  abbeys  and  cathedrals,  and  it  was  in  these  no 
doubt  that  Guiraut  de  Borneil  passed  his  winters. 


The  World  of  Books  267 

What  did  he  study  there  ?  We  do  not  positively  know. 
Scholastic  subtleties  appealed  more  to  a  Folquet  than  to 
one  like  him,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  think  of  him  as  delving 
in  the  science  we  unearthed  at  Montpellier, — men  with 
their  heads  under  their  arms  and  angels  pouring  the  rains 
from  watering-pots.  Other  clues  promise  better.  As  it 
happens,  we  have  a  letter  from  Abbot  Peter  of  Cluny, 
written  (1170)  just  about  this  time  to  Master  Peter  of 
Poitiers,  a  town  not  far  from  Excideuil.  The  Abbot  said: 
' '  You  run  from  school  to  school  ;  and  why  are  you  labor- 
ing to  teach  and  to  be  taught  ?  .  .  .  Why,  vainly 
studious,  are  you  reciting  with  the  comedians,  lamenting 
with  the  tragedians,  trifling  with  the  metricians,  deceiv- 
ing with  the  poets,  and  deceived  with  the  philosophers  ?  " 
Scanty  though  their  knowledge  of  science  was,  the  studi- 
ous had  something"  to  exercise  their  wits  upon  even  in  the 
twelfth  century.  These  humanities  were  no  doubt  the 
attraction  for  Borneil,  and  in  such  studies  he  found  both 
comfort  and  instruction.  Better  still,  he  was  preserved 
from  trespassing,  for  as  he  sang,  "  When  a  man  is  unem- 
ployed, he  must  be  on  his  guard  against  grave  sins  and 
all  misconduct." 

But  the  schools  were  not  his  only  field  of  study  :  he 
possessed  a  librar3^" 

I  love  to  follow  the  "  Master  of  the  Troubadours  "  as 
he  comes  back  to  Excideuil  from  a  journej'  among  the 
lords  and  kings,  and  settles  himself  with  a  long  breath  of 
content  among  his  books.  The  apartment  is  not  large, 
for  the  poet  himself  calls  his  house  a  little  one,  and  the 
costliness  of  books  limits  their  number  ;  but  it  looks  very 
trim  and  cozy.  At  the  end  of  the  room  is  a  window, 
glazed  as  well  as  the  skill  of  the  glass-makers  permits, 
and  near  it  on  a  table  of  hewn  oak  rest  a  horn  inkstand, 
a  quill  pen,  and  a  few  sheets  of  cotton  paper.  The  walls 
on  both  sides  are  filled  with  shelves  and  cupboards  for  the 


268  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

books,  and  by  the  owner's  consent  we  may  take  down  what- 
ever we  please. 

Except  a  few  legal  documents  in  a  corner  the  volumes 
have  no  resemblance  to  the  rolls  of  classical  days,  but  are 
good  rectangular  books  of  various  sizes,  bound  very  much 
as  our  books  are  bound.  Nearly  all  of  them  have  covers 
of  substantial  wood  held  together  at  the  back  with  leather; 
but  in  some  cases  the  boards  are  hidden  with  leather — 
more  or  less  ornamental — which  projects  at  the  top  and 
shields  the  front  with  a  flap.  Almost  all  are  provided 
with  clasps,  many  have  bosses  of  brass  on  the  sides,  and 
a  few  of  the  most  precious  are  adorned  with  plates  of 
silver  or  plaques  of  ivory  carved  in  relief.  A  few  are 
done  on  papyrus,  quite  a  number  on  cotton  paper,  one  or 
two  on  paper  made  from  linen  rags  ;  but  far  the  greater 
number  are  of  durable  and  costly  parchment.  Two  col- 
umns on  a  page  seem  the  rule  ;  and  the  writing,  whether 
in  the  roundish  minuscule  or  the  square  "  Gothic  "  that 
will  be  almost  universal  in  a  century,  is  beautifully  regu- 
lar :  yet  the  marks  of  the  ruling,  drawn  from  pin-pricks 
at  the  edges,  prove  that  the  scribes  were  not  machines. 
Initials  in  bright  colors — some  of  the  most  recent  on  a 
background  of  gold — enliven  the  pages  with  a  beauty  so 
luxurious  that  St.  Bernard  thought  it  sinful,  though  by 
no  means  equal  to  work  that  is  to  come.  Here  and  there 
a  rent  in  the  parchment  has  been  sewn  as  carefully  as  a 
wound,  or  a  large  hole  covered  with  a  patch  that  almost 
escapes  detection  ;  and  here  and  there  the  end  of  a  letter 
dashes  off"  into  the  right-hand  margin,  as  if  the  monk  had 
said,  "  Now  for  a  fling  !  "  and  then  had  settled  back  to 
his  routine  satisfied. 

Judging  from  the  signatures  of  the  copyists  most  of  the 
volumes  have  come  from  northern  France,  western  Ger- 
many, or  England,  and  certainly  all  were  transcribed  in 
monasteries.     That  does  not  mean,  however,  that  all  are 


The  World  of   Books  269 

pious  or  even  Christian  works  ;  for  although  the  monks  of 
Cluiiy  were  required — when  they  asked  for  a  pagan  book 
during  the  hours  of  silence — to  scratch  the  ear  as  a  dog 
does,  in  order  to  remind  themselves  that  pagans  were  un- 
clean animals,  the  Latin  classics  were  being  copied  all  the 
time  in  the  scriptoria. 

Borneil's  library  contains  no  Greek,  "^  we  find,  for  while 
the  scribes  use  Greek  letters  for  certain  flourishes,  the  lan- 
guage of  Homer,  to  speak  roundly,  is  unknown  in  France ; 
but  we  discover  a  dialogue  of  Plato  and  a  drama  of 
Sophocles  done  into  his  native  tongue  by  a  scholarly  Pro- 
ven9al  domiciled  in  Constantinople  ;  and  here  is  a  Latin 
Aristotle  translated  from  the  Arabic  by  a  Spanish  Jew, 
and  bristling  with  quadratic  errors. 

Latin  abounds.  Tacitus,  Livy,  Seneca,  and  Horace  are 
in  sight.  Virgil — a  grammarian  in  the  schools,  a  prophet 
in  the  cloister,  and  a  necromancer  in  the  street — is  here  a 
poet;  and  Ovid's  writings  on  love  occupy  a  specially  hon- 
ored place.  Copies  of  the  tales  and  poems  that  we  have 
heard  the  joglars  repeat  fill  a  large  corner.  The  Fathers, 
Abelard  the  great  innovator,  and  St.  Bernard  his  de- 
stroyer, look  on  from  the  background.  Volumes  of  Latin 
hymns  have  a  better  place.  Thomas  of  Celano  has  but 
just  written  the  Dies  Ira,  and  it  has  not  3'et  journej-ed  so 
far  as  this,  but  Borneil's  collection  includes  the  tremen- 
dous Hora  Novissirna  of  Bernard  of  Cluu}'  and  many 
pieces  by  Pietro  Damiani,  Ambrose,  Hilary,  and  other 
favorite  poets  of  the  Church.  Still  nearer  at  hand,  show- 
ing the  marks  of  frequent  use,  are  manuscripts  containing 
songs  by  Peire  d'Alvernhe,  Bernart  de  Ventadorn,  Raim- 
baut  d'Aurenga,  and  other  troubadours,  and  here — bound 
in  purple  samite  instead  of  leather — ^is  a  collection  of  pieces 
by  Borneil  himself,  evidently  prepared  and  given  by  some 
fair  admirer.'^ 

In  such  studies  and  in  such  reading  Borneil  spent  his 


2  70 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


winters,  but  when  spring  came  over  the  southern  hills  he 
went  forth  to  meet  her.  Early  in  the  morning,  while 
"jocund  day  stood  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain-tops," 
we  may  fancy  him  roaming  through  the  dewy  meadows 
of  Excideuil  or  strolling  along  the  river  Isle  not  far  away, 
listening  to  "  the  sweet  voices  of  amorous  birds  in  the 
wood  ";  and  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  "  hunting 
for  good  words,"  as  he  tells  us  he  used  to  do.     Then  a 


THE    RIVER    ISLE    NEAR    EXCIDEUIL. 


few  days  more,  and — poising  himself  like  the  birds — he 
took  his  own  summer  flight. 

Gascony,  as  we  already  know,  saw  him  often,  but  that 
was  only  the  beginning  of  his  journeys.  From  Limoges 
he  went  all  the  way  round  through  Navarre,  Leon,  Castile, 
and  Aragon  to  France  again.  Amfos  II.  of  Aragon  com- 
posed a  tenso  with  him.  '^  Raimbaut  d' Aurenga  addressed 
a  poem  to  him  at  Perpignan.     He  knew  Ermengarda  of 


Guiraut  de  liorneil  271 

Narbonne  sufficiently  well  to  refer  a  question  of  love  to 
her.  Probably  he  visited  Courthezon  ;  apparentl}'  he 
knew  Sain  lyeidier  and  the  viscountess  of  Polignac  ;  and 
it  .seems  very  evident  that  he  sojourned  at  Vodable.  At- 
taching himself  to  Aimar  V.,  the  viscount  of  lyimoges,  he 
joined  King  Richard's  crusade,  and  after  witnessing  the 
capture  of  Acre  (1191)  spent  a  winter  with  the  prince  of 
Antioch.'^  Wherever  he  went  he  found  a  welcome.  No 
sooner  did  one  of  his  joglars  hail  the  porter  of  a  castle  and 
announce  his  master's  name,  than  the  gates  flew  open  if 
not  open  alread}^  the  lord  and  the  lady  extended  their 
most  courtl}'  greeting,  the  servants  bustled,  and  the  feast 
was  spread. 

To  us  his  poetry  seems  at  first  a  little  disappointing. 
One  must  alwa5'S  have  the  defects  of  his  qualities,  and 
Borneil  was  a  scholar.  Instead  of  cantering  into  our  ap- 
preciation, like  Bernart  de  Ventadorn,  as  an  elegantly 
dressed  gallant  displaj-ing  his  horsemanship,  he  meets  us 
as  a  sedate,  quiet  man,  tall  and  spare,  with  a  face  etched 
instead  of  painted,  and  a  high  forehead  buttressed  with 
grey  temples.'"  Indeed  we  can  understand  why  Peire 
d'Alvernhe,  whose  crown  of  pre-eminence  he  took  away, 
likened  him  to  a  dry  blanket  in  the  sun,  and  his  thin 
voice  to  that  of  an  old  woman  cr3'ing  water  in  the  street, 
and  wh}^  he  declared  that  if  Borneil  should  look  in  a  mirror 
once  he  would  not  consider  himself  worth  a  rose-berry. 
Passion,  spontaneity,  and  naivete  are  not  the  distinctive 
gifts  of  such  a  man.     Tennyson  is  not  Burns. 

But  the  merits  of  Borneil  though  soberer  were  as  real 
as  Bernart' s. 

In  the  first  place  he  was  thoughtful,  and — by  the  stand- 
ard of  the  time — intellectual.  This,  however,  does  not 
mean  that  he  was  pedantic,  bookish,  or  cold.  His  tender 
love-songs  were  called  the  wife  of  Bern's  martial  verse  b}' 
so  good  a  judge  as  King  Amfos.     No  troubadour  held 


272  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

more  firmly  than  he  that  a  poem  could  have  little  value 
unless  dictated  by  the  heart  ;  and  at  one  time  he  refrained 
from  singing  for  more  than  a  year,  because  he  felt  no 
genuine  impulse.  In  short,  his  temperament  was  not 
lacking  in  sentiment,  and  he  could  even  revel  in  the 
madness  of  joy  for  a  time  :  "  Discretion  and  self-control — 
the  destroyers  of  gladness — please  me  not, ' '  he  sang  once 
with  youthful  recklessness. 

But  as  his  temperament  developed,  he  began  to  be  re- 
flective even  in  love  and  in  joy.  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
no  one  who  chooses  to  be  always  prudent  is  a  courtly 
man, — a  beautiful  foll}^  pleases  me  greatly,"  "  folly  clears 
the  judgment," — so  he  thought,  and  if  he  still  indulged 
his  fancy,  it  was  because  it  seemed  wise  to  do  so.  ' '  It  has 
never  appeared  that  one  loved  well  whom  gladness  did 
not  please,"  he  said,  and  for  that  reason  he  was  joyous  in 
his  wooing  when  he  could  be.  "I  see  nothing  in  the 
world  worth  [so  much  as]  gladness  and  social  pleasure," — 
that  was  his  conclusion,  and  guided  by  it  he  still  quaffed 
the  wine  of  gay  life. 

This  qualit}^  of  thoughtfulness  was  displayed  especially 
in  his  views  on  love,  and  he  struck  out  many  sayings  that 
were  highly  prized.  The  one  charm  against  a  wilful, 
capricious  mistress,  he  taught,  was  patient  waiting.  To 
complain  would  be  useless  :  ' '  Foolish  indeed  will  you  be, 
if  you  talk  of  justice  [in  a  court]  where  you  know  you  will 
be  unfairly  judged."  Forbearance  must  be  the  rule  : 
"  Think  3^ou  that  he  who  does  not  pardon  [even]  a  great 
WTong  is  sincere  and  true  ?  "  Honestv  was  necessarv  first 
of  all,  he  saw  :  "  A  good  love  never  comes  by  deceit." 
The  love  itself,  not  the  boast  of  it,  was  the  thing  to  be 
prized:  "  He  is  a  wretched  lover  who  does  not  conceal  his 
lady  and  himself."  These  and  the  rest  of  his  ideas  were 
not  entirely  original,  of  course  ;  but  they  were  expressed 
so  freshly  and  feelingly  as  to  seem  new  again. 


Giiiraut  de  Borneil  273 

Naturally  this  tendency  to  meditate  went  a  little  too 
far, — too  far,  I  mean,  for  poetic  effect.  After  studying 
upon  the  sweet  madness  of  the  tender  passion,  for  ex- 
ample, Borneil  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  laugh  at 
it  a  little;  and  the  result  appeared  in  some  real  "  nonsense- 
verse,"  descriptive  of  a  man  in  love. 

I  '11  make  a  souji;  both  bad  aud  good. 
And  say — I  know  not  what  I  would, 
Of  whom,  or  why,  or  e'en  why  not, — 
All  I  remember  I  've  forgot  ; 

I  '11  make  it  since  I  don't  know  how, 
And  sing  it  though  I  can't  sing  now. 

I  'm  sick  :  none  sounder  wears  a  hood  ; 
Rakes  do,  I  think,  what  good  men  should  ; 
I  give  the  thing  I  have  n't  got, 
I  wish  my  friend  the  hardest  lot, 
Aud,  loveless  lover,  I  '11  allow 
No  man  to  please  me, — that  I  vow.''' 

Further:  as  reflection  signifies  turned  back,  this  thought- 
ful disposition  of  his  muse  was  an  indication  that  the  sun 
of  Provencal  verse  had  passed  the  meridian.  Borneil  was 
the  noon  of  its  development.  He  began  to  write  in  the 
period  of  spontaneity  and  unconsciousness,  he  lived  on 
into  the  period  of  reflection,  and  he  presaged  the  period 
of  decadence. 

Borneil's  thoughtfulness  and  scholarly  titrn  resulted 
naturally  in  artistic  skill,  the  second  of  his  great  merits. 
Provencal  poetr}^  as  a  life  culminated,  it  seems  to  me,  in 
Bernart  de  Ventadorn,  as  a  science  in  Arnaut  Daniel,  and 
as  an  art  in  Guiraut  de  Borneil.  He  tried  all  the  chief 
styles  of  song,  and  excelled  in  everj^  one.  His  best  poems 
were  both  correct  and  easy,  displayed  at  the  same  time 
boldness  and  good  taste,  were  neither  monotonous  nor 
extravagant,  and  above  all  were  clear. 


2  74  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

This  quality  of  clearness,  however,  has  an  interesting 
history.  Full  of  ambition  to  distinguish  himself,  he 
plunged  at  first  into  the  ' '  obscure  ' '  style,  and  succeeded 
so  well  that  even  his  contemporaries  were  unable  to  un- 
derstand all  his  expressions.  But  as  he  became  a  greater 
artist  his  opinion  changed  completely. 

How  gratifying  it  would  be  to  have  a  discussion  of  this 
capital  point  between  Borneil  and  a  partisan  of  the  other 
school, — sa}-  Raimbaut  d'Aurengal  Well,  we  have  pre- 
cisel}^  that,  for  the  two  men  debated  it,  as  the  fashion  was, 
in  a  tenso. 

"  Tell  me,"  cried  Raimbaut,  "  tell  me  :  why  do  you 
esteem  so  highl}-  that  which  all  possess  alike  [the  power 
to  speak  plainly]  ?  Were  that  the  general  opinion  all 
would  be  equal." 

"  I  do  not  complain,"  answered  Borneil,  "  if  everj-  one 
compose  after  his  own  taste  ;  but  my  judgment  is  that 
poetry  is  more  loved  and  prized  when  simple  and  easily 
understood." 

"  Guiraut,  I  am  not  walling  to  have  my  songs  upset 
things  to  such  an  extent  that  people  shall  love  the  bad  as 
much  as  the  good,  the  little  as  the  great.  I  am  willing  to 
dispense  wnth  the  praise  of  fools,  for  the}'  do  not  under- 
stand what  is  above  the  ordinary." 

"  Does  it  look  as  if  I  were  upsetting  the  standards  and 
trying  to  make  the  bad  pass  for  the  good,  when  I  sit  up 
all  night  and  turn  repose  into  toil  in  order  to  make  my 
songs  clear  ?  Why  do  you  compose  a  song  if  you  do  not 
wish  it  understood  ?     A  song  wins  no  prize  but  that." 

"  Guiraut,  if  I  do  the  best  thing,  I  do  not  care  whether 
it  is  widely  known  or  not,  for  commonness  has  never  been 
a  merit.  That  is  why  gold  is  more  highl}'  prized  than 
salt,  and  with  poetry  it  is  the  same."  '* 

As  usual  the  discussion  did  not  bring  out  the  heart  of 
the  matter,  but  we  can  find  it  easih'  enough  between  the 


Guiraut  dc  Borneil  2 


/3 


lines.  Raimbaut,  having  in  fact  no  message,  realized  that 
without  novelt\-  of  style  he  would  be  commonplace  ;  but 
Borneil — full  of  thoughts  that  he  wished  others  to  under- 
stand— found  it  more  desirable  and  also  more  difficult  to 
express  himself  clearly  than  obscureh'.  Each  went  his 
own  way;  and  while  the  poet  of  Courthezon  fed  his  vanitj^ 
on  conceits,  the  poet  of  Excideuil  struggled  with  his  ideas 
till  he  was  master  of  them,  and  then  took  pleasure  in 
hearing  his  pieces  sung  by  girls  going  to  the  fountain  for 
water. 

Borneil's  personal  character  gave  his  verse  its  third  and 
crowning  merit.  The  three  knighth'  ideas  were  courage, 
virtue,  and  love  ;  and  Dante  clas.sed  Daniel  as  the  poet  of 
love,  Born  as  the  poet  of  arms,  and  Borneil  as  the  poet 
of  rectitude. 

Again  we  feel  disappointed  at  first,  for  we  hear  no 
eternal  principles  of  truth  and  right  thundering  through 
his  poems.  He  was  a  man  of  his  time,  not  of  all  time.  It 
was  a  knighth-  virtue  and  a  feudal  righteousness  that  he 
sang.  The  ideal  of  his  own  civilization  satisfied  him. 
Courtly  life,  courtly  love,  courtly  character — true,  chival- 
ric,  generous,  and  high-minded — this  was  the  best  thing 
he  knew  and  this  he  advocated  warmh-;  and  when,  to  his 
unceasing  regret,  he  found  the  ideal  tarnished  by  those 
about  him,  his  exhortation  turned  to  rebuke. 

Yet  he  was  never  a  Cardinal.  His  keenest  sirventes 
were  moderate  and  in  tune,  though  perhaps  aesthetic  ex- 
cellence was  occasionally  marred  by  the  intrusion  of  moral 
exhortation.  "  One  must  indeed  in  [a  spirit  of]  chasten- 
ing give  his  friend  good  advice  humbl}-  [and]  straightfor- 
wardly when  he  goes  astray,  even  though  his  friend  be 
not  pleased  thereat  ;  for  one  who  sees  his  friend  err  and 
remains  silent  encourages  him,  and  the  two  err  alike, — 
the  one  that  does  wrong  and  the  one  that  holds  his 
peace  "  ; — this  was  the  spirit  of  his  preaching.     Even  per- 


276  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

sonal  injuries  did  not  engender  spite.  Once  he  was  dis- 
missed b}^  the  king  of  Castile  with  the  present  of  a  palfrey 
and  many  other  gifts  ;  and,  as  he  passed  by  Navarre  on 
his  way  home,  the  king  of  Navarre  robbed  him,  taking 
the  palfrey  himself,  and  distributing  the  other  valuables 
among  his  men.'"  At  another  time  the  viscount  of 
lyimoges  (Gui  V.),  the  son  of  his  old  friend  and  comrade, 
plundered  the  little  house  which  he  once  boasted  had 
never  suffered  from  intrusion,  and  even  carried  away  his 
library.^"  But  his  mind  was  too  serene  and  his  temper 
too  high  to  rage,  and  he  sang  of  these  outrages  in  sorrow 
rather  than  anger. 

To  rouse  society 

Now  buried  fast  iu  sleep. 

From  bauishmeut  to  keep 
The  true  nobility. 
Hath  been  my  tireless  plea ; 

'T  is  vain  to  toil  and  weep. 

The  evil  runs  too  deep, 
The  wrong  hath  vanquished  me  ; 
Because  the  more  I  would  these  evils  block, 
The  more  they  grow,  the  more  their  mischiefs  mock. 

Brave  tilts  I  used  to  see. 

See  hosts  to  combat  sweep  ; 

Their  memories  men  would  steep 
In  tales  of  braver}'  ; 
But  now  the  best  is  he 

That  seizes  cows  and  sheep ! 

Ah,  false  the  knight  and  cheap. 
That  would  a  lover  be. 
Yet  with  his  hands  can  touch  the  bleating  flock, 
Can  rob  a  church,  or  travellers'  gold  unlock  !  "■" 


Nobility  of  sentiment,  fulness  of  thought,  and  master}- 
of  his  art, — these  made  a  pedestal  broad  enough  to  support 


Guiraut  de  Bornell  277 

a  great  fame,  and  such  a  load  of  glory  fell  to  Borneil.  No 
one  can  do  otherwise  than  connnend  him  despite  the 
limitations  resulting  from  his  merits.  Chabaneau  extols 
"  the  dignity  of  his  life,  the  elevation  of  his  sentiments, 
and  the  perfection  of  his  art. " '  Fauriel  pronounced  him 
"  without  question  .  .  .  the  most  distinguished  of 
the  troubadours,  the  one  who  did  more  than  any  other  to 
ennoble  the  tone  of  Provencal  poetry,  and  more  to  idealize 
its  character."  Dante,  struggling  to  forge  a  close,  intense 
diction  out  of  an  uncultivated  language,  preferred  the 
Word-smith  Daniel  ;  but  he  admitted  that  Borneil  was 
almost  universall}'  placed  before  him."'"  And  the  Pro- 
vencal biography  records  :  "  He  was  a  better  troubadour 
than  any  of  those  who  went  before  or  of  those  who  came 
after  him,  wherefore  he  was  called  the  Master  of  the 
Troubadours."  "^ 

So  lived  Guiraut  de  Borneil,  a  true  and  radiant  soul  ; 
and  as  he  sat  down  in  later  years  in  the  little  room  where, 
I  doubt  not,  he  gathered  a  second  library,  he  knew  that 
his  victory  was  great, — a  victory  over  the  humblest  birth, 
over  poverty,  over  rivalry,  over  an  envious  world,  over  a 
disdainful  mistress;  a  vdctor}-  unsullied  by  vanity,  avarice, 
profligacy,  scheming  arts,  or  vulgar  social  ambitions;  and 
the  triumph  was  no  doubt  sweet.  But  meanwhile  the  re- 
sistless grey  had  mounted  from  temples  to  crown.  His 
art  had  no  more  secrets  to  confess.  The  December  even- 
ing was  very  lonely  after  the  book  had  been  finished  and 
the  moon  sank  behind  the  dark  tower  of  the  castle.  And 
the  musing  poet  by  the  hearth,  feeling  that  life  was  very 
long  after  all  and  art  very  short,  realized  how  gladly  he 
would  give  his  triumph  and  his  proud  title  to  live  again 
that  Alba,  his  famous  morning-song,  which — combining 
the  beauties  of  the  popular  and  the  artistic  stjdes  both  in 
words  and  in  air — marked  the  culmination  of  Provencal 
poetry. 


278  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

[The  Friend :^ 

0  glorious  kiug,  true  radiance  and  light, 

Lord,  powerful  God,  be  pleased  with  gracious  might 
To  guard  my  friend,  for  since  the  night  descended 
He  turns  not  back  from  perils  where  he  wended, 
And  soon  will  come  the  morning. 

Fair  friend— asleep,  or  wakeful  in  delight — 
Serenely  rouse,  nor  slumber  more  tonight ! 
For  in  the  east  the  star  hath  well  ascended 
That  brings  the  day  ;  I  know  that  night  is  ended, 
And  soon  will  come  the  morning. 

1  call,  fair  friend.     Oh  let  my  singing  warn. 

And  sleep  no  more  !     The  birds  that  watch  for  morn 
Begin  to  chant,  and  'mid  the  thicket  hover  ; 
I  fear  the  rival  will  find  out  the  lover, — 
And  soon  will  come  the  morning. 

Fair  friend,  the  window  !     Look,  and  do  not  scorn 
The  counselling  stars  that  scarce  the  heavens  adorn  ! 
That  I  am  right,  in  those  pale  fires  discover. 
Else  yours  a  loss  you  never  will  recover. 
And  soon  will  come  the  morning. 

I  have  not  slept,  fair  friend,  since  you  were  there, 
But  on  my  knees  have  made  unceasing  prayer 
That  Mary's  vSon  would  grant  you  His  protection, 
And  give  you  back  to  my  sincere  affection. 
And  soon  will  come  the  morning. 

Fair  friend,  remember  how  at  yonder  stair 
You  begged  and  prayed  that  I  would  sleep  forbear, 
And  watch  all  night  in  dutiful  subjection  : 
You  slight  me  now,  you  scorn  the  recollection, 
And  soon  will  come  the  morning. 

yT/ie  Lozrr:] 

My  fair  sweet  friend,  such  joys  my  coming  stay 
I  would  there  were  no  dawning  and  no  day  ; 
Within  my  arms  the  loveliest  form  reposes 
That  earth  e'er  saw  ;  they  're  hardly  worth  two  roses, - 
That  rival  and  the  morning  !  ^* 


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THE  ORIGINAL   MUSIC   OF   "O  GLORIOUS    KING! 
IN    MODERN    NOTATION. 


279 


XXXVIII 

PERIGUEUX   AND   RIBE:rAC 

The  Art  of  the  Troubadours 

THERE  is  no  denying  it, — Perigueux  is  a  sleep}'  town. 
Possibl}'  the  ancient  name  of  the  province,  Peiregorc, 
has  left  a  soporific  influence.  Possibly  the  abundance  of 
truffles,  mushrooms,  Siud  pates  de foie gras\i2iS  a  little  to  do 
with  it.  Possibly,  too,  the  American  Bar  in  the  square 
may  contribute  some  Lethean  drops.  But  in  all  proba- 
bility the  antiquities  have  done  more  for  the  repose  of  the 
place  than  an}^  of  these  things.  A  great  city  like  Rome 
can  assimilate  a  large  quantity  of  such  relics  without  feel- 
ing depressed,  but  at  Perigueux  that  element  is  too  pre- 
ponderant, I  suspect. 

What  century  will  you  have  ?  For  the  fifteenth  look 
at  the  Tour  Mataguerre.  For  the  twelth  or  thirteenth 
there  are  the  subterranean  cloisters  connected  with  the 
cathedral.  The  period  of  the  troubadours,  or  a  period 
earlier  still,  is  attested  by  the  Chateau  Barriere.  The  boy- 
hood of  William  the  Conqueror  speaks  from  the  church  of 
St.  Etienne,  and  the  cluster  of  white  domes  called  St. 
Front.'  The  dreaded  j^ear  one  thousand  is  suggested  by 
an  extraordinary  tower,  two  hundred  feet  high  less  three  ; 
while  the  remains  of  a  basilica  under  it  date  from  the  sixth 
centur}'.  Yonder  in  the  market-gardens  3'ou  may  find  a 
round  tower  sixty  feet  high,  that  serv-ed  in  the  Roman 
times  for  the  worship  of  a  heathen  goddess.     This  mass 

281 


282 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


of  arches  and  broken  walls  is  the  debris  of  a  Gallo- Roman 
amphitheatre  of  the  third  century.  Look  sufficiently  long 
and  you  may  discover  the  remains  of  extensive  baths 
established  in  the  first  or  second  century,  and  beyond  the 
river  Isle  the  faint  lines  of  a  Roman  camp  can  be  traced. 

In  the  days  of  Borneil,  these  antiquities  were  not  so  old; 
they  weighed  less  heavily,  and  the  town  lived.  Perigueux 
was  a  head-centre  of  the  Venetian  merchants  then  ;  and  a 


OLD   PERIGUEUX. 


stream  of  oriental  commerce,  coming  from  Narbonne  and 
Marseille,  flowed  through  its  gateways  toward  La  Rochelle 
and  Nantes,  and  thence  to  England  and  the  north  of 
France.  War,  too,  helped  the  town  keep  busy,  for  Peri- 
gueux had  an  active  share  in  the  struggles  of  the  barons. 
The  city  was  two  cities  then,  each  with  its  moat  and  ram- 
parts ;  and  one  of  them  was  the  seat  of  Born's  ally,  Lord 
Talairan,  whose  family  name  appears  in  later  history  as 


Their  Art  283 

Talleyrand.  The  fiery  duke  of  Aquitaiue  did  not  a  little 
business  here  with  picks  and  battering-rams,  and  on  one 
such  occasion  the  lord  of  Autafort  threatened  to  come 
down  on  Baiart,  seek  him  out  in  the  midst  of  his  besieging 
host,  and  make  the  contents  of  his  head  into  mud. 

If  Richard  were  here  now,  it  would  be  worth  our  while 
to  stay, — especially  if  Born  would  undertake  to  carry  out 
his  threat  ;  but  instead  of  that,  Perigueux  is  busy  reform- 
ing or  tearing  down  its  artistic  relics,  and  the  big  black 
sign  of  the  American  Bar  turns  the  slumber  of  the  town 
into  a  nightmare, — for  us,  at  least."  Riberac,  the  place 
where  Arnaut  Daniel — the  master  of  technical  verse — was 
born,  is  not  far  away.  Let  us  take  flight  in  that  direction, 
and  on  the  way  change  our  thoughts  by  discussing  what 
Daniel  reminds  us  of, — the  art  of  the  troubadours. 

So  far  as  ideas  are  concerned  the  troubadours  were  not 
extremely  exacting.  It  was  not  their  ambition  to  hang 
between  earth  and  heaven,  struggling  to  think  the  un- 
thinkable and  express  the  inexpressible  ;  and  there  was 
no  search  then  after  neurotic  sentiments,  hectic  fancies,  or 
quintessential  imaginings.  On  the  side  of  form,  however, 
they  labored  intensely  at  their  art.  Addre.ssing  as  they 
did  the  most  cultiv^ated  class  of  society,  they  would  not 
have  been  pardoned  for  carelessness  of  manner  ;  and  finish 
was  the  more  essential  because  their  art,  sprung  from  a 
popular  source  yet  appealing  to  a  culture  that  was  bent 
upon  eliminating  every  trace  of  boorishness,  needed  to  as- 
sume a  style  no  less  distinguished  than  the  courtly  bear- 
ing of  its  patrons.  For  these  reasons  and  for  others,  form 
became  an  essential  feature  of  Provencal  verse,  and  some 
knowledge  of  its  technique  is  both  valuable  and  interesting. 

Of  course  there  were  no  schools  or  professors  of  poetics 
for  the  education  of  troubadours.  The  chivalric,  self- 
sacrificing  spirit  of  the  time  disposed  their  hearts  vaguely 
toward  passionate  devotion,  love  supplied  the  impulse  to 


284  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

sing,  and  a  friendly  poet  was  very  likely  among  the 
aspirant's  acquaintances  to  give  advice  and  criticism  ;  but 
their  real  instruction  was  the  imitation  of  approved  and 
favorite  songs,  which  worked  in  their  minds  as  the  ancient 
lyrics  of  Scotland  worked  in  the  thoughts  of  ploughman 
Burns.  During  the  whole  creative  period  this  was  all  : 
theories,  principles,  and  rules  did  not  exist  in  any  system- 
atic form.  But  about  the  time  Dante's  life  was  closing,  the 
usages  of  poetical  writing  were  compiled  under  the  auspices 
of  the  College  of  the  Gay  Science  at  Toulouse  ;  and  from 
this  treatise,  entitled  Las  Leys  Damors  (The  Laws  of 
lyove),'  and  from  the  works  of  the  masters,  we  can  learn 
the  principles  of  troubadour  art. 

Classical  prosody '  was  based  entirely  upon  the  length 
of  vowels,  called  quantity  ;  while  in  English  verse  (if  we 
Ignore  theories)  '  the  basis  is  accent  ;  but  in  Provencal,  as 
in  Romance  poetry  generally,  *  the  vital  point  was  the 
number  of  syllables  in  the  line.''  We  may,  to  be  sure,  as 
the  translations  have  indicated,  find  it  necessary  to  regard 
lines  as  iambic  (illustrated  by  such  a  word  as  before)  and 
trochaic  {after),  but  in  fact  the  word-accent  was  a  floating 
one,  ready  to  drop  anchor  about  as  the  poet  chose.  This 
system  of  rhythm,  apparently  loose  and  inexact,  seems  to 
Anglo-Saxon  ears  at  first  no  system  at  all  ;  but  it  under- 
lies the  poetry  of  Italy,  Spain,  and  France,  and  when  we 
have  listened  for  some  time  to  the  skilful  reading  of  such 
verse  we  find  it  certainly  more  difficult  than  ours  to  render, 
but — if  rightly  handled— more  flexible,  more  emotional, 
and  perhaps  more  musical. 

The  number  of  syllables  in  a  line  was  the  starting-point, 
then,  in  Provencal  poetry.  There  might  be  from  one  to 
twelve  syllables  in  iambic  lines,  and  from  three  to  eight  in 
trochaic  ;  but  the  most  common  metres — all  of  them,  as 
well  as  the  Alexandrine,  known  in  France  long  before  the 
time  of  the  troubadours — were  iambic  lines  of  six,  eight, 


Their  Art  285 

or  ten  sj'llables.  Didactic  verse  preferred  six,  narrative 
poems  eight,  and  romances  ten  or  eight  ;  when  twelve- 
syllable  verse  was  employed  it  was  usually  in  narrative 
poetry. 

The  word-accent,'  as  I  have  said,  was  floating  and 
might  fall  on  almost  any  syllable,  but  there  is  another 
accent  for  us  to  consider."  Every  line  had  a  stress  on  the 
last  SN'llable,  or — if  the  rhyme  were  double  (like  daily  : 
gayly) — on  the  last  but  one  ;  and,  in  case  the  syllables 
numbered  more  than  seven,  there  was  another  accent  near 
the  middle,  with  usually  a  pause  {ccssura)  after  it";  and 
on  these  accents  hung  the  rhythm  of  the  line.  The  num- 
ber of  the  syllables  and  these  line-accents  were  the  basis 
of  Romance  prosody. 

The  chief  originality  and  the  great  artistic  triumph  of 
the  Provencal  poets  lay  in  the  construction  of  the  stanza. 
The  popular  poetry  had  bound  together  two  or  more  lines 
of  the  same  kind  in  longer  or  shorter  stanzas,  each  of  which 
was  logically  complete  ;  but  the  troubadour,  gaining  a 
truer  simplicity  through  an  apparent  complexity,  united 
lines  of  every  sort  in  stanzas  of  any  number  of  lines  from 
three  to  forty-two,  and  carried  the  sense  along  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  of  the  piece. 

It  was  rhyme  that  bound  the  lines  together,  of  course  "  ; 
and  that  is  why  the  troubadours  accomplished  so  much  for 
the  stanza.  To  be  sure,  they  did  not  invent  rhyme.  The 
germ  of  it  has  been  found  by  Kawczynski  in  the  assonances 
and  alliterations  of  Roman  rhetoric,  and  before  their  time 
it  had  been  employed  in  Latin  verse;  but  they  seized  upon 
rhyme  with  a  new  vigor,  and  made  it  serve  them  as  it  has 
served  no  other  poets.  ' '  Masculine  ' '  rhymes  (like  go  : 
s/iozt')  predominated  ;  but  "  feminine"  or  double  rhymes 
(like  p/eas2(re :  treaszire)  were  used  far  more  than  wath  us, 
and  the  two  kinds  were  freely  mingled.  The  oldest  Ro- 
mance verse  knew  only  the  method  of  pairing  lines  ;  but 


286  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

crossed  or  alternating  rhymes  were  discovered  early,  and 
the  works  of  the  troubadours  illustrate  almost  every  con- 
ceivable arrangement  of  them. 

With  perfect  freedom  as  to  the  number  of  lines  in  a 
stanza,  the  length  of  the  lines,  the  kinds  of  rhyme,  and 
the  disposal  of  the  rhymes,  it  was  possible  to  devise  an 
almost  infinite  variet}'  of  stanza-forms.  Naturally,  certain 
forms  became  standard,"  but  ever}'  poet  was  at  liberty  to 
contrive  new  ones.  In  fact,  he  was  expected  to  show  his 
talent  in  precisely  this  way,  and  theoretically  every  song 
was  to  have  a  pattern  of  its  own.  The  result  was  an  un- 
bounded luxuriance  of  ingenious  forms.  The  Laws  of 
Love  describe  thirty-four  different  ways  of  rhyming,  each 
with  a  name  of  its  own,  and  seventy-two  kinds  of  stanzas, 
all  of  them  labelled  in  a  similar  way;  but  this  was  only  a 
beginning,  and  Maus  has  counted  up  817  distinct  patterns 
in  the  works  of  the  troubadours.  The  abundance  of 
rhymes  in  Provencal  contributed  no  little  to  stimulate  this 
variety  :  Peire  de  Corbiac,  for  instance,  could  invent  840 
lines  ending  with  the  same  sound. 

But  rhyme  did  only  half  its  work  in  binding  lines  to- 
gether ;  it  also  brought  the  stanzas  into  one.  Unity  of 
thought  was  not  considered  essential  bv  the  troubadours, 
— the  plan  of  a  poem  might  be  rambling  and  incoherent  as 
the  plans  of  sermons  were;  but  unity  of  form  was  insisted 
upon."  Occasionally  when  the  stanza  was  very  long  or 
when  all  the  lines  of  it  rhymed  together,  as  in  Sordel's 
Lament,  each  stanza  had  its  own  rhymes.  Occasionally 
stanzas  were  grouped  in  twos  or  threes,  and  each  group 
had  new  rhymes.  But  the  grand  rule  was  that  all,  or  at 
least  a  number  of  the  rhymes,  were  carried  through  the 
piece,'*  and  no  other  poets  have  followed  out  this  principle 
of  unity  so  completely  as  the  troubadours.  Frequently, 
as  we  have  discovered,  a  line  was  not  capped  at  all  in  its 
own  stanza,  but  found  its  answer  at  the  same  point  in  the 


Their  Art  287 

other  stanzas  ;  and  this  hide-and-seek  of  the  rhymes  was 
no  doubt  a  very  pleasant  feature  of  the  art  in  Provencal 
ears.  One  rule  was  absolute  ;  the  pattern  might  be  au}-- 
thing,  but  once  adopted  it  must  be  followed  to  the  end, 
and  all  the  stanzas  made  precisely  alike.'' 

There  were  still  other  ways  to  give  an  impression  of 
unity.  Sometimes  the  ends  of  lines  that  did  not  rhyme 
together  had  a  certain  similarity  of  sound, — for  example, '" 
-ars,  -ors,  -iirs,  -aire,  -ars,  -ors,  -crs,  -aire.  Sometimes  there 
was  a  refrain — perhaps  only  a  single  word — repeated  at  the 
end,  or  in  the  middle,  or  even  at  the  beginning  of  each 
stanza.  Sometimes  the  last  rhyme  of  a  stanza  became  the 
first  of  the  succeeding  stanza,  or  the  last  word  or  line  of  one 
stanza  opened  the  next,  or  the  rh3'mes  of  the  second  half 
of  a  stanza  were  used  in  the  first  half  of  the  following  one. 
It  is  useless  to  enumerate  such  devices,  for  the  variety 
was  endless." 

Was  it  worth  while  ? 

Certainh'  the  rhymes  assisted  the  singer  to  remember 
his  lines,  and  no  doubt  the}-  were  also  an  aid  to  the  poet. 
The  very  difficulty  of  them  improved  his  work,  for  it  was 
a  challenge  and  a  spur  to  his  powers.  Besides,  rhyme  is 
a  mode  of  thinking,  as  metre  is.  The  true  rhetorician 
does  not  think  first  and  then  clothe  his  ideas  with  figura- 
tive language, — he  thinks  in  figures  ;  and  in  a  similar 
way  the  real  verse-maker  finds  rh^-me  and  metre  not  ob- 
stacles to  be  overcome,  but  wings  to  bear  him  up.  The 
listener,  too,  was  not  without  a  profit.  Rhyme  is  an  ap- 
peal to  both  recollection  and  anticipation.  It  recalls  a 
past  pleasure  and  suggests  that  a  pleasure  is  approaching  ; 
and  the  regular  though  infinitely  varied  recurrences  of 
pleasant  sounds,  running  entirely  through  a  Provencal 
song,  leave  in  one's  ear  the  charm  of  distant  music,  faint 
but  real,  fugitive  but  haunting. 

A  merit  equally  rational  may  be  found  in  almost  all  of 


288  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  troubadours'  devices.  However  ingenious  the  pat- 
tern, all  the  chief  poets  w^ere  agreed  that  no  technical 
skill  was  of  any  value  unless  it  had  feeling  behind  it;  and 
we  may  fairly  look  upon  the  intricacies  of  the  best  Pro- 
vencal verse  as  not  in  any  way  akin  to  the  spiritless  arti- 
ficiality of  acrostics  and  the  like,  but  as  the  natural 
embroidery  of  branch  and  leaf,  instinct  with  life  and  the 
vernal  spirit,  forced  sometimes  but  never  falsified  bj'  hot- 
house conditions. 

Two  other  points  are  to  be  mentioned,  and  then  we  may 
dismiss  Provencal  technique.  One  is  the  tornada — similar 
in  form  to  the  last  part  of  a  stanza — which  was  often  added 
at  the  end  of  a  song."  Sometimes  there  were  two  or  even 
more  than  two  tornadas,  and  often  they  made  convenient 
vehicles  for  complimentary  remarks  about  one's  lady  or 
one's  patron. 

The  other  point  establishes  a  slight  connection  between 
our  own  poetry  and  that  of  old  Provence.  By  the  rule — 
not  always  followed — every  stanza  broke  into  two  parts 
at  a  strong  pause  called  the  volfa,  and  then  one  or  the 
other  of  these  parts  broke  again  into  exact  halves, 
sung  to  the  same  strain  of  music,  so  that  the  stanza 
had  three  sections.  In  a  similar  way,  as  it  is  held,  the 
song  as  a  whole  was  intended  to  show  a  threefold  parti- 
tion of  stanzas.  This,  indeed,  was  of  minor  importance," 
but  the  division  of  the  stanza  was  a  fundamental  principle. 
From  Provence  it  passed  on  to  Italy,  and  Dante  expounded 
it  with  great  emphasis  and  clearness.'^''  England  imported 
it  from  Italy  in  the  sonnet,  and  so  our  own  poets  fall  back 
now  and  then  upon  the  art  of  the  troubadours. 

What,  then,  were  the  distinctive  marks  of  Provencal 
poetry  ? 

The  number  of  syllables  and  the  line-accents  were  the 
basis  of  it,  but  these  were  common  to  all  Romance  verse. 
The  distinctive  marks,  as  Gaston  Paris  has  named  them. 


The  Tenso  289 

were  tri-partition,  the  carrying  of  rhymes  from  stanza  to 
stanza,  and  tlie  principle  that  every  new  song  should  wear 
a  new  form. ''  Behind  these  externals  we  find  other  marks, 
less  distinctive  but  not  less  characteristic  :  a  true  artistic 
conscientiousness,  earnest  aesthetic  stud}',  a  love  of  art  as 
art,  and  a  subtle  striving  for  effect, — merits  then  quite 
new  in  the  modern  world. 

The  verse  of  the  troubadours  was,  indeed,  too  artistic, 
for  everything — like  everybody — has  the  defects  of  its 
qualities,  and  its  ardent  devotion  to  form  carried  it  on  to 
artificiality  and  lifeless  elaboration. 

But  the  same  is  true  of  every  good  idea  ;  the  principle 
of  life  always  becomes  the  principle  of  decay,  as  Motley 
said,  and  we  must  give  the  troubadours  credit  for  what 
they  did.  Thej-  were  as  far  as  possible  from  being  ex- 
temporizers  or  dilettantes.  Their  conscious  aim  was  ex- 
cellence, and  the}'  spared  no  pains  in  the  quest  of  it. 

It  is  not  rare  to  find  them  speaking  of  the  labor  ex- 
pended on  their  verse.  With  one  it  was  "  building"  a 
song  ;  with  another  it  was  "  forging  "  ;  with  a  third  it 
was  "  working  out."  They  often  confessed  the  pains 
taken  to  refine  their  pieces.  Daniel  and  others  used  the 
"  file."  At  length  every  word  lay  precisely  as  the  poet 
wished,  and  all  were  so  deftly  fitted  together  that  a  joglar 
could  hardly  change  one  without  conscious  effort."  And 
then — perhaps  with  an  injunction  to  alter  nothing — the 
fini.shed  work  was  published  through  the  joglars,  and  set 
going  from  castle  to  castle  and  from  lip  to  lip. 

The  three  chief  kinds  of  Provencal  verse  we  are  now 
pretty  familiar  with,"  but  something  more  is  worth  saying 
about  one  of  them, — the  tenso. 

In  leaving  the  love-song  {canson)  and  sirvente  for  the 
tenso,  one  seems  to  turn  away  from  the  concert-hall  and 
the  forum,  and  drop  in  socially  at  the  club  or  an  afternoon 
tea.'^*      Some  tensos,    no  doubt,  were  debates  in  deadly 

VOL.  II. — 19. 


290  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

earnest,  but  far  the  greater  number  discussed  things  for 
social  entertainment.  No  question  of  the  day,  no  debat- 
able point  of  life  and  manners,  lay  outside  their  field ;  and 
the  light  they  throw  upon  the  culture  of  the  age  atones 
for  their  lack  of  poetic  beauty. 

How  we  should  have  enjoyed  lounging  on  the  big  settle 
by  the  fireplace,  and  hearing  weighty  matters  like  these 
discussed  :  "  Which  is  the  greater  possession,  wealth  or 
wisdom  ?  "  "  Is  it  better  to  have  wisdom  or  to  be  irre- 
sistible with  the  ladies  ?  "  "  Which  is  to  be  the  more 
esteemed,  the  man  who  has  risen  from  a  low  rank  or  the 
one  that  was  born  in  a  high  station  ?  "  "  Which  is  bet- 
ter, to  win  a  lady  by  skill  or  by  boldness?  "  "  Which 
ought  a  lady  to  prefer,  the  man  who  avows  his  love,  or 
the  man  who  dares  not  avow  it  ?  " 

Some  of  the  topics  were  notably  profound  :  "  Which  is 
preferable,  a  warm  garment  in  a  cold  winter,  or  a  pretty 
lady  in  a  hot  summer?"  "Which  is  better,  a  young 
and  pretty  woman  unversed  in  love,  or  a  mature  woman 
of  experience  ?  "  "  Which  deserves  the  higher  honor. 
Yes  or  No  ?  "  "  Which  is  the  harder  to  bear,  debt  or 
lovesickness  ?  ' ' 

After  such  themes  it  would  have  staggered  us  a  little  to 
hear  subjects  like  these  proposed  :  "  Which  would  be  the 
greater  incentive  to  piety,  a  glimpse  of  heaven  or  a  glimpse 
of  hell  ?  "  "  Which  lord  is  the  more  generous,  the  one 
who  has  enough  to  give,  or  the  one  who  must  rob  in  order 
to  be  liberal  ?  "  "  Would  it  be  sensible  to  give  up  a  king- 
dom for  the  greatest  love  ?  "  "  Should  one  prefer  to  lose 
one's  life  in  consequence  of  enjoying  love,  or  to  love  on 
forever  without  hope  ? ' ' 

The  lover's  problems  were,  of  course,  the  staple  subject, 
and  some  of  the  questions  had  a  very  practical  turn  :  "  A 
knight  has  neglected  to  visit  his  lady  and  is  sure  of  her 
displeasure  if  he  go  :  shall  he  stay  away  or  present  him- 


Riberac  291 

self?  "  "  How  does  a  lady  show  the  greater  affection,  by 
enjoining  her  friend  to  win  renown,  or  by  urging  him 
simply  to  love  her  ?  "  "  Which  loves  the  better,  he  that 
is  broken  down  by  his  ladj-'s  coldness,  or  he  that  is  stimu- 
lated thereby  to  distinguish  himself  the  more  ?  "  "  Which 
must  strive  the  more  to  show  himself  worthy  of  his  lady, 
the  lover  that  has  been  rewarded  or  the  lover  that  hopes 
to  be?" 

Some  of  the  questions  touched  the  subtlest  problems  : 
"  Which  is  the  greater  incentive  to  noble  deeds,  love  or 
one's  own  powers?  "  "  Which  is  better,  to  accept  rich 
presents — willingly  given — that  you  have  earned,  or  to  be 
able  to  make  gifts  j^et  receive  no  thanks  for  them?" 
"  Which  is  preferable,  to  win  love  through  a  false  repu- 
tation for  success  in  arms,  or  to  have  true  knightly  honor 
without  love  ?  "  "  Which  is  better,  loved  to  hate  or 
hated  to  love  ?  "  "  Are  the  joys  or  the  ills  of  love  the 
greater  ?  ' ' 

There  can  be  no  discussion  unless  there  are  two  sides  to 
the  question  ;  and  so  these  tensos  throw  a  double  light 
upon  the  times.  To  change  the  simile,  they  are  like  the 
stereoscope,  and  bring  the  age  before  our  eyes  with  relief 
and  reality." 

But  it  was  our  setting  out  for  the  birthplace  of  Arnaut 
Daniel  that  brought  up  the  subject  of  troubadour  art,  and 
now  in  its  turn  the  end  of  our  subject  brings  us  back  to 
Daniel  and  our  journey. 

Riberac,  a  small  country  town,  is  a  newly  made  railway 
terminus,  and  plumes  itself  with  the  airs  of  a  certain 
bustling  importance.  Warlike,  or  even  grand,  there  is 
nothing.  Below  the  town  lie  the  rich  meadows  of  the 
Dronne,  and  then  conies  the  river  itself  (I.,  page  189) 
with  its  escort  of  poplars  and  its  operatic  washerwomen 
rinsing  clothes  in  the  bright  water. 

The  castle  where  Daniel  was  born  stood  on  a  low  hill 


292  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

overlooking  the  meadows  and  the  town,  but  nothing  re- 
mains of  it  except  the  church.  It  sounds  a  httle  odd, 
possibly,  to  speak  of  a  church  as  the  remains  of  a  castle  ; 
but  that  exactly  represents  the  fact.  For  it  appears  that 
the  heavy  Romanesque  church  standing  near  the  accepted 
site  of  the  castle  was  really  the  lord's  chapel.  It  outlived 
the  wreck  of  battlements  and  towers,  was  enlarged  for  the 
U-se  of  the  public,  and  is  a  place  of  worship  still. 

In  Daniel's  time  the  chapel  was  almost  new,  it  is 
thought ;  but  in  spite  of  restorations  there  is  no  sugges- 
tion of  newness  about  it  now.  Out.side,  the  tree-tops  are 
full  of  cicadas  "  drunk  with  sun.shine  "  ;  but  within  it  the 
shadows  of  the  past  have  gathered — centuries  deep — into 
a  midnight  of  darkness,  lighted  only  b\'  one  radiant  star, 
— the  perfumed  lamp  of  the  sanctuary."" 

Something  else  quite  mediaeval  caught  our  eyes  in  the 
town.  Placarded  conspicuously  in  the  post-office  and 
other  public  places  was  a  proclamation  of  the  mayor's 
fixing  the  prices  of  breads  and  of  meats,  and  this  carried 
us  back  instantly  to  the  age  of  the  troubadours,  for  every 
town  had  such  laws  in  that  day. 

In  Toulouse,  for  example,  it  was  decreed  (1204)  that 
nobody  should  buy  wheat  or  other  foods  to  .sell  again, 
from  the  Nativity  of  John  the  Baptist  (June  25)  to  All 
Saints'  Day  (Nov.  i);  that  no  dealer  in  oil  or  nuts  should 
ever  have  more  than  sixteen  quarts  on  hand  ;  that  a  fish 
dealer  .should  not  buy  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
city,  and  when  he  brought  fish  into  town  must  show  pub- 
licly all  that  he  had,  reserving  none  ;  that  sellers  of  fruit 
should  not  make  purchases  outside  the  city  and  the  sub- 
urbs, and  within  the  town  .should  buy  only  in  three  speci- 
fied localities  ;  and  still  further,  that  before  they  could 
take  their  purchases  home  they  must  sell  them  at  the 
price  they  paid,  it  any  citizen  cared  to  buy.  It  was  also 
decreed  that  a  bakeress  .should  not  make  more  than  a 


THE   OLD   CHURCH,    RIBERAC. 


293 


Restrictions  of  Business  295 

specified  profit  ;  that  a  salmon  should  not  sell  for  more 
than  a  certain  price  ;  that  a  mason  and  a  wood-worker 
should  be  paid  only  so  much,  and  if  anj'  one  accepted 
more  he  should  be  fined  ;  that  every  dealer  in  meat  or  in 
wooden-ware  should  take  a  profit  of  exactly  one  twelfth, 
and  that  no  one  should  buy  or  sell  any  article  made  of 
wood  the  same  day  it  was  brought  into  the  town. 

At  Montpellier  a  dyer  in  scarlet  could  not  dip  more 
than  a  certain  quantity  of  silk  in  a  single  boiling  ;  and  a 
man  was  compelled  to  swear  obedience  to  many  such  re- 
strictions before  he  could  practise  the  trade  at  all.  None 
but  a  citizen  was  permitted  to  dye  wool,  nor  to  sell  more 
cut  cloth  than  he  could  carry  in  a  pack  ;  and  not  even  a 
citizen  could  dye  red  with  madder  :  he  must  use  the  pe- 
culiar stain  of  Montpellier. 

How  vexatious  all  such  regulations  appear  !  Yet  before 
we  condemn  the  troubadour  age  for  stupidity,  let  us  reflect 
that  many  of  our  own  day  would  enact  similar  laws  if  they 
could ;  and  let  us  also  admit  that  any  philosophical  theory 
of  municipal  affairs  is  very  much  farther  from  the  Boston, 
New  York,  and  Chicago  of  the  present,  than  from  the 
Toulouse,  Montpellier,  and  Limoges  of  seven  hundred 
years  ago. 

The  drive  of  twenty  miles  or  so  from  Riberac  to  La 
Roche  Chalais  fills  a  pleasant  afternoon.  The  country  is 
hilly  enough  to  be  interesting  but  not  hilly  enough  to  be 
tedious.  Almost  every  foot  of  the  ground  is  cultivated. 
Vineyards  are  few,  but  grass  and  grain  thrive  abundantly. 
Single  houses  are  seen  here  and  there,  but  generally  the 
people  exhibit  the  Gallic  fondness  for  sociability,  and 
gather  themselves  in  cozy  villages  even  at  the  expense  of 
going  much  farther  to  their  daily  toil.  Many  such  vil- 
lages are  beaded  along  the  route,  each  with  its  church,  its 
post-  and  telegraph-office,  its  hotel  and  cafe,  and  usually 
its  gendarmerie. 


296  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

The  life  of  the  place  has  no  time  to  stiffen  into  company 
manners  as  we  dash  into  it  with  cracking  whip.  The 
grandmotherly  grocery-woman  in  her  white  cap  is  giving 
prudent  bits  of  candy  to  three  barefooted  little  girls.  The 
baker,  stripped  to  the  waist,  is  leaning  comfortably  against 
his  door-post  taking  breath.  The  carpenter,  balancing 
himself  on  a  stick  of  timber  supported  ten  feet  above  the 
ground,  is  pushing  his  saw  down  through  the  wood  for 
his  lieutenant  beneath  to  push  up  again.  A  woman  is 
nursing  her  baby  in  the  doorway  and  gossiping  meanwhile 
with  her  neighbors.  A  boy  is  watching  his  father's  cow 
while  she  grazes  beside  the  road, — a  cow  that  inspires  con- 
fidence instantly,  for  her  very  coat  looks  creamy.  Every- 
where we  find  industr}-  and  frugality  without  anxiety  or 
strain.  There  is  none  of  the  restless  and  impatient  desire 
to  "  arise  and  shine  "  that  has  made  and  exhausted  New 
England,  and  is  the  glory  and  the  curse  of  America, 
Contented  to  work  and  accustomed  to  economize,  the 
people  are  satisfied  to  liv^e  on  the  interest  of  their  vitalit}-, 
and  transmit  the  principal  to  another  generation.  "'  Un- 
intelligent," do  you  .say  ?  Is  it  not  rather  what  the  im- 
perial philosopher  of  Rome  had  in  mind  when  he  stated 
his  ultimate  wisdom :  ' '  Pass,  then,  through  this  little  space 
of  time  conformably  to  nature,  and  end  thy  journe}-  in 
content  ;  just  as  an  olive  falls  off  when  it  is  ripe,  blessing 
nature  which  produced  it,  and  thanking  the  tree  on  which 
it  grew."  " 

Toward  evening  all  this  came  to  an  end,  and  we  de- 
scended into  the  valley  of  the  Dronne  and  the  railroad. 
To  the  north  lay  Poitiers  and  its  reminders  of  the  great 
poet-duke,  who.se  figure  has  been  looming  up  before  us 
this  long  while  ;  but  for  a  brief  journey  our  faces  turned 
the  other  way.  By  the  middle  of  the  evening  we  found 
ourselves  in  Bordeaux,  and  in  a  twinkling  drows\-  Peri- 
gueux  seemed  very  far  away. 


F 


XXXIX 

BORDEAUX,    BLAYE,    AND   BENAUGES 

Jaufre  Rudel 

OR  at  Bordeaux  life  boils  and  bubbles,  and  gives  us 
one  more  suggestion  of  the  world  in  which  the 
troubadours  lived. 

If  we  thought  in  Auvergne  that  pietj'  lay  deeper  than 
wit,  here  we  find  the  compensation.  Down  this  way 
every  good  fellow  has  a  right,  the  proverb  says,  to  change 
his  religion  three  times.  "  Paris  is  well  worth  a  mass," 
thought  Henri  IV.,  and  he  was  of  these  parts.  Yet  if 
there  is  fickleness  there  is  boldness,  too,  and  courage 
atones  for  braggadocio.  Arm  in  arm  with  him  of  the 
white  plume  walks  the  shade  of  D'Artagnan,  and  arm  in 
arm  behind  them  are  Montesquieu  and  Montaigne,  adven- 
turers and  conquerors  in  the  battle-fields  of  thought.  All 
the  way  down  to  the  Pyrenees  goes  their  brave  country, 
and  nowhere  in  the  world  is  there  a  countr}'  like  it, — easj- 
conscience,  teeming  brain,  mighty  tongue, — lively,  witty, 
shifty,  noisy:  in  a  word,  Gascony  ';  and  Bordeaux  is  the 
focus  of  it  all. 

This  is  the  greatest  wine  market  in  the  world  and  the 
flavor  of  the  vintage  is  everywhere.  T-wo  men  enter  the 
dining-room.  Both  of  them  are  good-looking  and  rosy, 
but  thej^  attract  our  attention  chiefly  because  one  of  the 
pair,  while  he  aims  to  move  straight  forward,  seems — from 
some  freak  of  his  anatonn— to  be  advancing  all  the  time 

297 


298  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

by  the  left  oblique.  They  sit  near  us,  and  it  soon  becomes 
evident  that  wine  is  the  most  important  part  of  their 
dinner.  The  key  to  the  cellar  is  theirs,  and  they  give 
their  orders  with  the  fulness,  emphasis,  and  eloquence  of 
weighty  business.  At  first  each  sips  his  glass  in  silence, 
— piously  and  reverentially  ;  but  of  course  that  could  not 
last. 

"  Ah,  this  St.  Emilion  ;  I  never  tire  of  it." 
"  Yes,  but  come,  try  a  drop  of  this  Medoc." 
"  Delicious  !     But  my  St.  Emilion  is  the  better  fabric. 
What  a  texture,  what  a  woof  !  ' ' 

"  Oh,  texture  !  Is  that  it  ?  Good  !  Then  the  Medoc 
is  the  thing  after  all.  Try  it  again,  I  implore.  When 
did  you  taste  a  wine  with  so  thick  a  coat  ? ' ' 

"What's  that?  Coat?  Mais,  monsieur,  pardon!  if 
your  Medoc  has  a  coat,  my  St.  Emilion  has  a — a — an 
overcoat  !  " 

But  no  wine  is  needed  to  rouse  animation  in  Bordeaux, 
for  the  people  are  all  wide  awake.  Their  smallish  bodies 
— they  cannot  spare  time  to  grow  ver}^  large — shiver  with 
restlessness.  Words  come  in  a  deluge.  To  go  out,  to 
dance,  to  visit  the  cafes,  to  promenade,  to  chat,  laugh,  and 
gesticulate, — that  is  their  life.  What  is  easy  and  .sponta- 
neous contents  them.  They  go  with  the  wind, — and  like 
it.  Professor  Eiard  of  the  Faculte  tells  us  that  his  lecture- 
room  was  crowded  with  hearers  at  first  ;  but  one  morning 
the  regiments  came  that  way  on  parade,  and  ' '  at  the  first 
notes  of  the  approaching  bugles  and  drums,  the  audience 
filed  out,  followed  the  music,  and  never  came  back." 
Everybody  improvises.  The  school-boys  do  not  have  to 
learn  :  "  they  invent,"  says  Taine.  The  girls — even  the 
poorest — wear  their  gowns  coquettishly,  make  their  skirts 
pose,  and  give  themselves  a  figure  ;  and  the  laboring 
women  with  panniers  on  their  heads  reminded  Theophile 
Gautier  of  so  many  Nausicaas  going  to  the  fountain. 


Bordeaux 


299 


It  was  very  different  here  once.  Bordeaux  was  always 
an  important  city  ;  Ausoniiis  placed  it  among  the  great 
capitals  of  his  age  ;  its  wine,  its  river,  and  its  men  were 
famous  from  very  early 
times  ^  ;  and  under  the 
emperors  its  flourishing 
schools  enjoyed  an  envi- 
able reputation.  But  in 
the  troubadour  age,  at 
least,  the  spirit  of  the 
town  was  heavy  and  se- 
vere. A  father  was  the 
master  and  the  judge  of 
his  family  :  he  could  sell 
his  own  son,  and  if  he 
killed  his  wife  or  his  child 
in  a  moment  of  anger  he 
went  unpunished.  A  theft 
at  night  was  visited  with 
death,  and  a  murderer 
was  buried  alive  under 
the  body  of  his  victim. 
The  change  seems  to  have 
come  from  the  Gascon  in- 
vasion; and  as  Gascony 
was  the  province  where 
our  poets  found  their 
earliest  welcome  ^  the 
lightness  and  animation 
of  the  town  suggest  in  a 
way  what  their  atmos- 
phere was  like. 

We  understand  also,  perhaps,  why  the  troubadours 
found  little  occasion  to  mention  Bordeaux  ;  for  so  far  as 
their  poems  are  concerned  the  place  might  almost  as  well 


GATEWAY  OF  THE   DUCAL  PALACE. 


300  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

have  been  in  Germany.  Yet  not  a  few  of  them  must  have 
been  here,  for  the  lordship  of  Gascony  during  the  trouba- 
dour age  belonged  to  the  poetic  family  of  Poitou.  Just 
here  is  the  spot  where  they  came  and  went,  for  at  this 
point  the  ducal  residence,  the  Palais  de  I'Ombriere,  stood 
for  more  than  eight  hundred  years  (982-1800).  Henry 
II.  held  court  within  its  walls.  Queen  Eleanor  lived  there, 
and  Richard  the  lyion-hearted  lodged  there  many  a  time." 
Not  a  stone  of  it  is  left  ;  but  the  gateway — itself  of  the 
fifteenth  centurj' — stands  firm  yet,  seeming  the  more  im- 
pressive from  its  association  with  the  old  palace,  like  a 
fine  old  man  who  can  say,  "  I  heard  Webster  at  Bunker 
Hill." 

As  a  point  of  departure,  however,  Bordeaux  has  no 
little  importance  for  us. 

Our  first  excursion  was  naturally  into  Gascon  domains. 
Fearlessly  invading  the  Sauterne  country  we  passed  the 
castle  where  Montesquieu's  library  and  study  may  still  be 
seen,  and  came  to  Cadillac,— mouldering  away  in  the 
marshes  of  the  Garonne,  one  side  of  its  blackened  walls 
propped  by  theatre  cottages,  the  other  striped  with  flood 
marks. 

A  few  miles  from  the  town  and  the  riv^er  lies  an  exten- 
sive estate  called  Benauges,  and  we  journeyed  into  it  by  a 
coiled  road  like  a  spiral  spring.  When  we  began  to  be 
wound  up  clo.sely  toward  the  end  of  our  drive,  it  seemed 
as  if  the  spring  must  snap  ;  but  it  did  not,  for  a  large  but 
half-ruined  castle  held  the  end  of  it  fast. 

Very  charming  was  the  old  courtyard  bounded  with 
high  but  irregular  walls,  and  shaded  with  lindens  full  of 
loudly  humming  bees  ;  bnt  far  more  interesting,  though 
not  at  all  beautiful,  we  found  the  two  massive  ba.stions  and 
the  curtain  between  them  on  the  other  side,  for  this  part 
stood  in  the  troubadour  age.  Behind  that  wall  Sain  Circ 
the  Zebra  fetched  and  carried,  and  there  a  bright  lady 


BENAUQES. 


301 


Blaye  303 

named  Giiillerma  ate  and  drank,  slept,  and — most  of  all — 
coquetted.  There  three  lovers  wooed  her  at  the  same 
time  one  day,  and  she  was  clever  enough  to  satisfy  them 
all.  On  one  she  bestowed  a  loving  glance,  another  felt  a 
light  foot  press  his  own,  and  the  third —  But  all  that  has 
been  told  before,  and  you  know  already  how  Savaric  de 
Mauleon  discussed  this  very  important  matter  with  his 
friends  in  a  tenso  (Chapter  I.). 

Our  next  excursion  was  every  way  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

From  Bordeaux  the  Garonne  opens  toward  the  ocean 
like  a  horn  of  plenty  overflowing  with  the  rich  products  of 
the  Midi,  and  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  horn,  about  twenty 
miles  down  and  precisely  opposite  the  rich  Medoc  vine- 
yards, is  Blaye, — a  straggling  town,  a  great  fortress,  and 
a  famous  romance. 

Even  in  Roman  days  Blaia,  "  the  god-child  of  Bor- 
deaux," had  no  slight  importance.  All  through  the 
Middle  Ages  a  great  commerce  filled  its  port,  while  its 
massive  fortress  overawed  the  Breton  pirates.  Landwise 
its  position  was  equally  fortunate.  Anciently  a  station 
on  the  Roman  road  from  Spain  to  the  Rhine,  it  continued 
to  greet  the  coming  and  speed  the  parting  guest  for  many 
centuries.  Henry  II.  of  England  met  the  father  of  Amfos 
II.  of  Aragon  there  (1160),  and  it  was  agreed  that  young 
Richard  should  marry  the  daughter  of  his  ally ;  and  Blaye 
welcomed  the  Black  Prince  after  the  great  battle  of 
Poitiers. 

The  princes  of  Blaia — for  they  bore  the  title  of  prince  " 
— ranked  high  as  noblemen,  and  one  of  them  earned  a  still 
greater  distinction  ;  for  Jaufre  Rudel,  the  friend  of  Marca- 
bru,  was  not  only  "a  right  noble  gentleman"  as  the 
biography  says,  but  a  poet  ^  himself  and  a  knight  devoted 
even  at  that  early  day  to  the  service  of  courtly  love.  For 
years,  we  may  believe,  he  made  himself  agreeable  to  the 


304  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

fair  ladies  of  Gascouy  and  Saintonge.  Music  as  well  as 
verses  he  composed  with  no  little  skill,  and  we  cannot 
doubt  that  his  rewards  were  equal  to  his  merit. 

For  some  reason,  however,  he  met  with  resistance  after 
a  time,  and  the  ladj'  whom  he  loved  would  not  listen 
kindly  to  his  suit.  Thrown  back  upon  himself,  he  began 
then  to  develop  his  personal  traits,  as  a  strong  nature 
always  does  when  blocked  by  circumstances.  The  result 
was  a  marvellous  transformation  in  his  outer  life.  Un- 
imagined  caverns  of  thought  and  feeling  cast  shadows  of 
deep  color  upon  the  ga}^  but  superficial  brilliancy  of  his 
existence.  The  name  Rudel  suggests  a  German  origin, 
and  perhaps  a  strain  of  Teutonic  ideality  ran  through  his 
nature.  Certainly,  as  Canello  says,  he  represented  the 
more  ethereal  spirit  of  the  Provencal  knight,  contrasted 
with  E^nglish  and  P'rench  materialism;  and  even  while  he 
loved  as  other  men  did,  he  longed  for  more  than  trivial 
satisfactions,  and  sang — unconscious  what  his  craving 
meant : 

Let  shepherds  have  their  pipes  of  reed. 
Their  little  games  the  children  play  ; 

But  love  and  such  a  love  I  ueed 
That  joy  shall  fill  my  heart  for  aye.'' 

He  worshipped  his  disdainful  mistress  passionately, — so 
passionately  both  then  and  afterwards  that,  as  he  said,  no 
matter  how  fast  he  galloped  on  to  meet  her,  it  seemed  as 
if  he  were  going  backward.  But  somehow  other  voices 
began  to  call  him.  A  merely  human  love,  an  ordinary- 
natural  passion,  trivial  after  all,  with  transient  pains  and 
still  more  transient  pleasures,  living  and  dying  at  the  tip 
of  the  tongue  and  the  tip  of  the  fingers,  coming  and  going 
with  a  smile  and  a  frown, — ^what  was  it  after  all  ?  Down 
in  the  heart  there  were  deeper  yearnings.  Was  there  no 
such  thing  as  a  spiritual  love  ?     Yes,  the  monks  talked  of 


AT   BLAYE. 


VOL.  II.  — 20 


305 


Jaufre  Rudel  307 

such  a  thing, — the  love  of  God.  But  that  was  not  quite 
what  he  longed  for  ;  it  did  not  reach  his  lordly,  knightlj' 
instincts.  The  crusaders,  then  ?  Ah,  that  was  better; 
and  the  idea  of  the  crusade  took  hold  of  his  mind.  But 
even  so  he  did  not  find  content,  for  was  he  not  a  poet  as  well 
as  a  knight  ?  Troubadour  that  he  was,  he  needed  a  real 
though  a  spiritual  love,  a  woman  who  should  be  the  pole 
of  his  most  ethereal  affections ;  not  merely  a  woman  whose 
face  and  form  he  could  admire,  but  one  whom  he  could 
think  of,  and  dream  of,  and  weave  into  endless  poetry  with 
his  other  idea,  the  crusade. 

Unconsciously  he  fixed  his  heart  on  this  unknown,  un- 
shaped  ideal,  even  while  his  passions  cried  aloud  for  the 
beautiful  person  of  his  mistress,  "  full,  delicate,  graceful, 
and  fresh,"  Musing  silently  in  the  church  of  St.  Ro- 
manus  that  stood  hard  by  his  castle,  he  thought  of  Roland 
the  champion  of  Roncesvalles — buried  there  with  Oliv- 
ier and  Turpin,  as  all  believed — and  the  hero  seemed 
to  smile  upon  his  aspirations.  Walking  slowly  through 
the  little  village  * — overhung  by  ancestral  trees — that  oc- 
cupied the  site  of  the  present  fortress,  and  burying 
himself  in  the  great  forest  that  walled  it  in,  he  felt 
called  onward  as  if  to  a  far-distant  quest.  Gazing  from 
his  lofty  window  upon  the  swelling  and  ebbing  tides  of 
the  broad  estuar5^  he  found  his  thoughts  weighing  anchor 
like  the  ships,  and  turning  their  prows  toward  a  haven  far 
away. 

Finally  his  pent-up  emotions  discovered  an  outlet. 
Pilgrims  returning  from  Antioch  talked  at  his  table  one 
evening  of  the  beautiful  countess  of  Tripoli,^  and  espe- 
cially of  her  piet}',  her  kindness,  and  her  celestial  graces. 
Syria  was  verj'  far  away,  farther  from  Rudel  than  Thibet 
is  from  us.  But  the  thought  of  the  fair  and  heavenly 
Odierna  entered  into  Rudel' s  heart,  and  his  imagination 
busied  itself  in  picturing  her. 


3o8  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Before  he  realized  it,  his  mind  was  tossing  on  a  sea  of 
conflicting  emotions.  His  passions  cried  still  for  the  dis- 
dainful beauty — how  could  he  give  her  up  ?  and  the  lady 
of  Tripoli — should  he  ever  so  much  as  meet  her,  indeed  ? — 
seemed  often  only  a  fancj-.  At  other  times  and  in  other 
moods,  he  resolved  upon  devoting  himself  to  the  crusade 
and  going  to  her,  and  the  vision  came  near  once  more  ; 
and  then  all  the  difficult}^  the  impossibilit}'  of  renouncing 
home  and  friends  and  luxury  and  perhaps  life,  banished 
it  again  almost  beyond  the  horizon.  What  he  ought  to 
do  he  could  not  tell,  nor  even  what  he  wished  ;  but  one 
thing  was  certain, — it  was  delightful  to  walk  to  and  fro 
on  the  ramparts  of  his  donjon,  watch  the  ships  go  and 
come,  and  weave  together  thoughts  of  the  far  lady,  now 
as  if  he  would  go  to  her  and  now  as  if  she  were  only  a 
dream.'" 

Sometimes  he  checked  himself,  asking  wh}'  he  dared 
fancy  that  she  would  care  for  him  :  but  that  only  increased 
his  love.  Yet  it  was  not  love, — certainly  not  passion.  More 
and  more  she  dwelt  in  his  thoughts  as  a  sacred  being. 
"  He  that  gains  her  love  is  surely  fed  with  manna,"  he 
said  to  himself.  Not  only  she  did  not  cross  the  thought 
of  joining,  as  a  warrior  or  a  pilgrim,  in  the  new  crusade — 
that  of  1 147 — for  which  a  call  had  gone  forth,  but  she 
invited  him  to  it.  If  he  began  to  think  of  devoting  his 
life  to  God,  he  found  himself  kneeling  at  her  feet.  If 
he  resolved  to  go  and  seek  her  out,  he  thought  of  her 
as  leading  him  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  then  on  to 
heaven. 

Such  meditations  filled  him  with  unspeakable  joy,  but 
they  filled  him  with  distress  also  ;  for  if  he  could  not  win 
the  creature  of  clay,  how  could  he  please  the  celestial 
being  of  his  dreams  ?  Full  of  .spiritual  longings,  full  of 
hopes  and  fears,  he  took  his  lute  then,  and  gave  his 
thoughts  utterance  in  a  new  song. 


Jaufre  Rudcl  309 


How  sweet,  as  days  grow  long  in  May, 

The  chant  of  birds  that  sing  afar  ! 
How  sweet !     But  w  hen  I  turn  away 
They  mind  nie  of  a  lady  far  ; 
Then  sad  I  wander  to  and  fro, 
And  birds  and  blooming  hawthorns  grow 
As  drear  as  winter's  icy  face. 

Love  ne'er  shall  glad  my  heart  for  aye, 

Unless  I  win  the  lady  far  ; 
For  lovelier,  better— I  can  say— 
There  nowhere  lives,— or  near  or  far  ; 
So  bright  the  beam  her  virtues  throw, 
'Mid  Saracens  I  'd  gladly  know 

Distress  and  pain,  to  taste  her  grace. 

My  trust  the  Lord  will  not  betray, 

And  I  shall  see  the  lady  far  ; 
But  yet  for  each  glad  thought  I  pay 
Two  sad  ones,  for  she  lives  afar  ; 

With  staff  and  scrip  I  fain  would  go, 
And  all  the  weary  pilgrim's  woe 
Her  lovely  eyes  would  soon  efface. 

O  God  of  all  that  go  or  stay. 

Who  bade  me  love  the  lady  far. 
Oh  grant  my  wish  :  without  delay 
To  see  indeed  the  lady  far  ! 

The  spot  where  I  shall  meet  her  show  ! 
No  palace  could  delight  me  so, 

Though  chamber  or  garden  be  the  place. 

He  speaks  the  truth  who  says  I  pray 

And  languish  for  the  lady  far, 
For  other  joys  could  not  allay 
My  longing  for  the  lady  far  ; 
Alas,  I  dread  a  cruel  blow  ! 
To  love  unloved — 't  is  this  I  owe 
The  Genius  that  my  fate  did  trace. 

Alas,  I  dread  a  cruel  blow  ! 
I  love  unloved  ;  a  curse  I  owe 

The  Genius  that  mv  fate  did  trace." 


o 


lo  The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Before  very  long  Prince  Rudel's  mind  was  entirely 
wrapped  up  in  this  unworldly  passion,  love  and  religion 
mingling  and  blending  in  a  profound  enthusiasm  that 
was  both.  Filled  with  harrowing  thoughts,  impatience, 
forebodings,  dread  that  he  should  perish  by  the  way, 
passionate  longings  for  the  beautiful  woman  of  flesh  and 
blood — fairer  than  "ever  was  born  among  us" — ^but 
above  all  and  over  all  and  through  all  with  a  bright  hope, 
and  with  an  ardor  for  a  "  better  "  good  than  she  that  no 
discouragement  could  quench  and  no  self-denial  appall, 
he  bade  a  final  adieu  to  love  of  the  old  sort,  took  the 
cross,  and  "  embarked  upon  the  sea  "  to  go  and  find  his 
distant  and  spiritual  love. 

"  And  then,"  says  the  biographer — Sain  Circ,  perhaps 
— "  And  then  while  he  was  still  in  the  ship  he  was  taken 
with  so  grave  a  sickness  that  they  who  w^ere  wnth  him 
thought  he  no  longer  lived.  None  the  less  they  did  what 
they  could,  bringing  him  to  Tripoli  and  bearing  him  to 
an  inn  as  one  dead.  And  the  countess  was  made  to  know 
of  it,  and  she  came  to  him  to  his  bed  and  took  him  in  her 
arms.  And  he  knew  that  she  was  the  countess,  and  sight 
and  hearing  returned  to  him.  And  he  praised  and  thanked 
God  that  He  had  preserved  his  life  till  he  had  seen  her,  and 
with  that  he  died  in  her  arms.  And  she  caused  him  to  be 
buried  with  honor  in  the  Temple  House  of  Tripoli." 
"  Then,"  concludes  the  account,  "  Then,  on  that  selfsame 
day,  she  became  a  nun  from  the  grief  she  had  for  him  and 
for  his  death." 

Bordeaux  is  renowned  for  its  noble  boulevards  ;  it  is 
renowned  for  its  theatre— the  Odeon  and  the  Bourse  of 
Paris  melted  into  one,  as  Gautier  said  ;  and  it  is  even 
more  renowned  for  its  historic  buildings. 

Not  a  few  of  these  are  still  to  be  seen — "  souvenirs  that 
are  monuments   and  edifices  that  are  dates" — and  the 


J  ail  f  re  Rudel 


1 1 


genius  of  Hugo  gives  each  a  voice.  "  The  amphitheatre 
of  Gallien  says  :  '  I  have  seen  Tetricus,  governor  of  Gaul, 
proclaimed  emperor  ;  I  have  seen  the  birth  of  Ausonius, 
poet  and  Roman  consul  ;  I  have  seen  St.  Martin  preside 
over  the  first  Council  ;  I  have  seen  Abd-er-Rahman  and 
the  Black  Prince  go  by.'  Sainte  Croix  saj-s  :  '  I  have 
seen  Louis  the  Young 
wed  Eleanor,  Gaston 
de  Foix  wed  Madeleine 
de  France,  Louis  XIII. 
wed  Anne  of  Austria.' 
The  tower  Peyberland 
says  :  '  I  have  seen 
Charles  VI I.  and  Cath- 
erine de  Medici.'  The 
belfry  saj's  :  '  Under 
my  vault  have  sat  Mon- 
taigne as  ma^-or  and 
Montesquieu  as  presi- 
dent.'"  And  the  crypt 
of  St.  Seurin  says,  he 
might  have  added  :  "  I 
h  a  v^  e  seen  heathen 
Gauls  look  for  the  first  time  upon  the  Christian  cross." 

But  the  crowning  glor}-  of  Bordeaux  is  the  port,  and  I 
could  not  suggest  where  to  find  a  water-front  more  superb. 
It  is  a  crescent  about  three  miles  long  on  the  west  bank 
of  the  Garonne,  here  twice  as  wide  as  the  Thames  at  Lon- 
don. Standing  on  the  Quai  Louis  XIII.  among  the  stal- 
wart, brown-faced  Basques,  whose  queer  language  has 
invaded  the  Gascon  speech,  we  look  about  us.  On  the 
right  lies  at  full  length  the  bridge  of  Bordeaux,  long  un- 
rivalled, and  still  the  finest  in  France.  On  the  left, 
stretching  far  away,  grows  the  forest  of  three  thousand 
masts  which  bears  a  golden  harvest  every  month  in  the 


THE  AMPHITHEATRE   OF  GALLIEN. 


312  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

year.  Both  to  right  and  to  left  extend  the  regular  and 
massive  quays  of  solid  masonry,  supported  in  the  rear  by 
a  wall  of  hotels,  administrative  buildings,  and  warehouses, 
— handsome  and  statel5^  Most  cities  are  overpraised  ; 
but,  as  Hugo  said,  Bordeaux  has  not  been  praised  enough. 
Young  expected  much,  he  wrote,  but  the  reality  surpassed 
his  expectations.  "  Far  and  away  the  most  beautiful  city 
of  France  !  "  cried  Stendhal. 

But  what  shall  be  said  of  Bordeaux  as  we  saw  it  from 
the  bridge  ?  For  the  setting  sun,  pouring  a  tempered 
effulgence  through  the  tinge  of  haze,  changed  the  smooth 
Garonne  into  molten  brass,  gilded  the  forest  of  masts,  and 
lighted  up  the  proud  faces  of  quays,  fagades,  and  spires 
till  they  glowed  in  all  the  colors  of  evening.  Earth  was 
transmuted  into  clouds  ;  masonr}'  shone  like  the  sun- 
beams ;  realities  assumed  the  graciousness  of  dreams,  and 
Bordeaux  became  a  city  of  the  sk}^, — aerial,  heavenly. 

Just  so  the  strong,  material,  earthy  force  of  human  pas- 
sion shone  transformed  and  transfigured  in  the  love  of 
Jaufre  Rudel,  and  his  death  fixed  the  beautiful  dream  be- 
yond the  possibility  of  fading. 

For  such  a  man  it  was  a  happy  fate  ;  he  did  not  possess 
his  ideal  but  he  did  not  lose  it,  and  the  world  has  accepted 
him  as  the  symbol  of  spiritual  love  burning  for  a  complete 
satisfaction."^ 


XT. 

ANGOUL^MK   AND    BARBEZIEUX 

Rigaut  de  Berbesiu 

AT  Angouleme,  as  at  Bordeaux,  strength  has  blos- 
somed into  beauty,  and  the  lines  of  ancient  ramparts 
have  become  lines  of  handsome  streets.  The  difference, 
however,  is  more  striking  than  the  likeness.  Bordeaux  is 
level,  and  the  encircling  thoroughfares  are  in  turn  sur- 
rounded by  streets  and  houses;  but  at  Angouleme,  a  high 
fortress  like  Beauville  and  Uzerche,  the  circuit  of  new 
boulevards  forms  the  rim  of  the  hill,  an  airy  circle  of  com- 
manding promenades. 

The  town  itself  is  pretty.  The  houses,  all  of  whitish 
stone,  are  singularly  attractive  ;  the  streets  have  a  draw- 
ing-room cleanliness  like  that  of  Monaco  ;  and  the  rail- 
road, the  factories,  and  the  heavy  business,  keeping  their 
place  in  the  valley,  leave  the  old  town  on  the  hilltop — 
serenely  aloft  in  the  sky — to  associate  only  with  sweet 
rains,  bright  suns,  and  pure  winds. 

But  the  promenade  about  the  ramparts, — that  is  the 
real  Angouleme  ;  let  us  return  to  it.  One  goes  there  just 
at  sunset,  and  in  an  hour  and  a  half  walks  twice  around. 
Only  at  a  single  point  does  the  hilltop  allow  the  surround- 
ing country  to  approach  and  touch  it  :  all  the  rest  of  the 
way  you  have  the  old  walls  beneath  you, — here  low,  and 
there  a  sheer  face  more  than  a  hundred  feet  high.  At  the 
finest  point,  the  Promenade  Beaulieu,  a  tangle  of  walks 
and  terraces  knits  itself  down  through  a  mass  of  trees 

313 


314 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


to  the  bottom  of  the  steep  slope.  As  we  make  our  first 
circuit  a  bell  goes  ringing  through  this  park  to  announce 
the  hour  of  closing.  Merry  voices  and  the  laughter  of 
girls  come  up  through  the  foliage.  The  sun  has  just  left 
the  horizon  ;  and  the  sky,  greenish  blue  and  full  of  sun- 
light, is  a  dome  of  tinted  crystal  illuminated  from  abov^e. 


THE   CASTLE   OF    ANQOULEME. 


When  we  come  round  again,  the  sky  seems  less  bright 
than  the  earth.  INIore  than  two  hundred  feet  below  us 
amid  the  dark  shadows  of  the  vallej^  flow  the  ribands  of 
the  Charente,  as  smooth  as  a  mirror  in  the  perfect  stillness 
of  the  evening  ;  and  they  send  up  to  us  another  sunset, — 
here  and  there  a  flush  of  yellow  cloud,  here  and  there  a 
star,  and  here  and  there  the  pale  crescent  of  the  moon  ; 
while  under  the  glamour  of  such  a  twilight  the  beautiful 


Cadenet  315 

couiitr}'^  be5'ond  the  valley  seems  more  beautiful  still,  a 
fit  cradle  for  Marguerite,  the  "  Pearl  of  Valois. " 

Then  we  recall  the  years  when  the  battlements  were 
standing.'  Three  times  they  ventured — though  quite  in 
vain — to  def}-  the  impetuous  valor  of  Richard  the  Lion- 
Hearted.  But,  though  a  fortress,  the  city  had  something 
besides  war  to  think  about.  It  was  to  Angouleme  that 
Bernart's  Margarida  came  from  Ventadorn,  and  her  castle 
— which  stood  not  far  away,  where  the  H6tel-de-Ville 
towers  now — was  of  course  a  focus  of  culture.  Forty 
years  later  another  lad}-  was  the  countess  there,  who  like 
her  loved  poetry  and  song.  Man}-  a  troubadour  basked 
in  her  smiles  ;  and  poor  Cadenet,  in  the  days  of  his  vaga- 
bondage, was  thankful  to  taste  her  bounty  also.  Yonder 
is  the  very  church  where  they  worshipped  of  a  Sunday  ; 
and  where  we  stand,  perhaps  he  stood  once,  thinking  of  a 
fair  one  who  cared  more  for  praise  than  for  love,  and  say- 
ing to  himself : 

I  thought,  alas  !  that  as  her  beauty  glows, 
A  like  warm  color  there  must  be  withiu. 

Unlucky  Cadenet  !  He  was  not  a  great  poet,  but 
few  of  the  brotherhood  had  a  more  singular  career  than 
his. 

His  father  was  a  knight,  though  a  poor  one,  and  his 
eyes  first  saw  the  day  in  the  castle  of  a  little  town  not  far 
from  Aix.  At  first  life  ran  along  for  him  as  for  other 
boys,  and  before  his  feet  the  usual  path  seemed  open, — ser- 
vice in  the  household  of  some  rich  baron,  esquireship, 
knighthood,  and  then  perhaps  fortiuie.  But  one  da}'  all 
this  was  changed  in  a  twinkling  ;  for  the  soldiers  of  the 
count  of  Toulouse  attacked  the  castle,  took  possession  of 
it,  and  slew  all  the  people  they  found  there.  Home, 
parents,  friends,  and  future  vanished  in  an  hour. 

But  life  remained.     One   of  the   enemy,    Guilhem  de 


3i6  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Lantar,  took  a  fancy  to  this  one  boy,  protected  him,  saved 
him,  carried  him  back  to  the  fair  Tolosan  country,  and 
brought  him  up.  As  the  lad  grew  he  learned  how  to 
make  verses  and  sing,  and  finally  calling  himself  Baguas 
(Reveller)  he  roamed  about  the  country  as  a  joglar. 
Blood  told,  however.  After  years  of  such  vagabondage 
he  made  his  way  to  Provence,  as.sumed  the  name  of  his 
native  place,  Cadenet,  and  endeavored  to  become  a  poet. 
Friends  took  him  up  after  a  while,  and  his  ambition  was 
realized.  "  Long  time  he  prospered  and  was  honored," 
we  read.  Noble  ladies  were  glad  to  be  celebrated  in  his 
poems,  princes  favored  him,  and  in  his  old  age  (1239), 
entering  the  Order  of  the  Hospital  at  Orange,  he  crowned 
a  successful  life  with  a  godly  end.' 

But  .so  far  as  the  troubadours  are  concerned,  Angouleme 
— like  Bordeaux  again — is  chiefly  interesting  as  a  point 
of  departure,  and  the  high  crisp  rim  of  the  town  gives  an 
impulse  to  flight. 

First  a  flight  of  thought. 

It  is  about  Whitsunday  in  the  year  1182,  and  beside  us 
here  are  standing  the  three  counts  of  the  city.  Their 
brows  are  not  cheerful  ;  for  the  terrible  Richard  has  taken 
the  castle  of  Excideuil,  and  the}'  are  dreading  to  see  his 
banner  approach  their  walls.  But  we  have  no  such  care, 
and  we  only  ask  ourselves  :  What  are  the  troubadours 
about,  this  bright  morning  ? 

It  is  a  question  worth  answering. 

Marcabru,  Raimbaut  d'Aurenga,  and  the  countess  of 
Dia  have  passed  off"  the  stage,  and  Sordel  is  not  yet  alive  ; 
but  most  of  the  great  singers  are  somewhere  to  be  found. 
Bernart  de  Ventadorn,  too  old  for  violent  pleasures,  is 
just  sitting  down  to  a  quiet  game  of  chess  in  the  palace 
of  Toulouse  ;  while  Peire  Rogier  is  pacing  slowly  back 
and  forth  in  the  cloister  of  Grammont,  and  his  old  love — 
Ermengarda  of  Narbonne— discusses  with  King  Amfos  the 


A  Bird's-Eye  View  of  Them  317 

wisdom  of  leaguing  themselves  with  Henrj-  II.  of  Eng- 
land against  the  count  of  Toulouse. 

Faidit  might  be  seen  climbing  the  zigzags  of  Ventadorn 
with  a  new  song  for  Maria.  Stormy  Born  is  raving  about 
Autafort,  preparing  to  oust  his  brother  ;  while  his  bookish 
neighbor,  Borneil,  thankful  to  be  out  of  the  battle  at  his 
native  place,  is  far  on  the  way  to  Spain,  wishing  he  could 
forget  the  inconstant  Escaronha.  Daniel  could  be  found 
in  Beauville  "  swimming  up-stream  "  with  all  his  might, 
while  Vidal,  looking  often  at  his  ring,  sighs  for  the  beauti- 
ful viscountess  of  Marseille.  Peire  d'Alvernhe,  not  in  a 
.sentimental  mood  this  morning,  is  recovering  from  last 
night's  concert  in  the  castle  hall  of  Puivert  by  hunting 
the  deer,  and  the  Monk  of  Montaudon  has  just  rolled  out 
of  bed  at  Aurillac  after  making  a  night  of  it. 

Folquet,  as  clo.se  as  he  can  be  to  the  ' '  Magnet ' '  of 
Marseille,  is  enjoying  what  Vidal  .sighs  for  ;  while  Pons 
de  Capduelh,  .soon  to  be  his  transient  rival,  is  at  this  mo- 
ment riding  gayly  up  the  steep  slope  of  Mercoeur.  Arnaut 
de  Maruelh  and  the  countess  are  leaving  the  castle  of 
Burlatz  for  their  picnic  by  the  Agout;  and  the  Dalfin,  not 
yet  worldly-wise,  canters  at  the  head  of  a  hawking-party 
in  a  new  costume  that  is  reallj'  more  elegant  than  he  can 
afford.  Raimbaut  de  Vaqueiras,  back  from  his  first  ex- 
periences in  Italy,  is  fixing  himself  at  Orange.  Sain 
Circ,  about  a  dozen  years  old,  could  be  found  at  school  in 
Montpellier  ;  Peguilha,  a  boy  of  the  same  age,  is  unwill- 
ingly measuring  off  some  cloth  in  his  father's  little  shop 
in  Toulouse;  Miraval  and  another  lad  are  fi.shing  a  tennis- 
ball  out  of  the  Orbiel  just  below  the  castle  ;  and  Peire 
Cardinal,  destined  to  lift  up  his  voice  against  all  oppress- 
ors, is  just  now  screaming  vigorously  in  his  cradle.' 

So  much  for  a  long  journey  in  fancy  ;  now  for  a  short 
one  in  fact. 

Twelve  miles  or  .so  to  the  .southwest  of  Antrouleme  is 


3i8  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Barbezieux.  It  is  only  a  quiet  little  town,  lolling  cheer- 
fully on  the  top  of  a  smooth  low  hill  ;  but  centuries  ago  it 
had  its  walls,  its  five  gates,  its  castle,  and  above  all,  its 
troubadour, — Rigaut  de  Berbesiu." 

Rigaut  did  not  cut  a  very  brilliant  figure,  for  he  was 
onl}'  a  poor  sub- vassal,  and  an  awkward,  bashful  man, 
timid  in  company,  slow  to  understand,  halting  in  speech, 
and  always  depending  on  some  one  else  to  "  put  him  for- 
ward," as  the  biographer  says  ;  yet,  like  many  a  clumsy 
fellow,  he  was  really  excellent  in  both  heart  and  mind. 
"  He  was  a  good  knight  and  fair  of  person,  ...  he 
sang  well,  and  he  composed  pleasant  melodies  and  poems. ' ' 

Like  many  others  he  succeeded  best  away  from  home. 
Maria,  the  daughter  of  Queen  Eleanor  and  the  countess 
of  Champagne,  was  his  patroness  ;  and  he  became  so  well 
known  beyond  the  Loire  that  six  of  the  ten  pieces  which 
have  come  from  him  are  preserved  in  French  song-books. 
But  his  affections  did  not  care  to  journey  so  far  ;  and  they 
fixed  themselves  upon  the  r/idfe/anie  of  Taonai,  probably 
a  grandniece  of  Jaufre,  the  troubadour-prince  of  Blaia,  a 
lady  "  very  desirous  of  honor  and  reputation."  "  And 
when  she  understood,"  continues  the  biography,  "  that 
he  was  in  love  with  her,  she  displayed  toward  him  a 
sweet  semblance  of  affection,  so  much  so  that  he  gathered 
courage  to  pay  her  court.  And  she  welcomed  his  suit 
with  sweet  and  loving  looks,  and  accepted  it,  and  listened, 
like  a  woman  who  desired  that  a  troubadour  should  sing 
of  her."  ' 

When  Rigaut  pressed  his  wooing,  however,  the  lady 
put  him  off  with  excuses  ;  j^et  she  still  kept  him  in  her 
service,  and  now  and  then  a  gleam  of  favor  gave  him 
hope  again.  "  Who  does  good  will  find  good,"  he  very 
likely  quoted  to  himself,  or  that  other  proverb,  "  With 
time  the  slowest  will  arrive,"  and  so  he  persisted  with  the 
dogged  resolution  of  melancholy  minds. 


Rig^aut  de  Berbesiu  319 

But  after  a  long  time  a  certain  lady  of  that  region  sent 
for  the  poet,  and  when  he  came  told  him  plainly  that  his 
conduct  surprised  her  very  much,  since  he  continued  to 
serv^e  one  who  showed  no  disposition  to  return  his  love  ; 
yet  he  was  a  man  of  such  worth  and  so  handsome,  too, 
that  any  lady  should  be  glad  to  please  him,  and  if  he 
would  transfer  his  allegiance  to  herself — more  beautiful 
and  of  higher  station  than  his  present  mistress — he  should 
find  no  reason  to  complain.  Rigaut  consented ;  and  then, 
as  the  temptress  required,  he  paid  Taonai  a  last  visit,  and 
in  spite  of  tears,  pleadings,  and  promises,  took  formal 
leave  of  the  lad}-  who  valued  his  praise  but  not  his  love. 

This  done,  he  flew  to  his  new  friend  for  the  fulfilment 
of  her  pledge  ;  but  instead  of  tenderness  he  received  only 
harsh  reproaches.  Apparenth'  her  only  object  had  been 
to  deprive  a  rival  beauty  of  her  troubadour,  and  when  she 
had  accomplished  that  she  cared  little  how  Rigaut  might 
fare.  Indeed,  she  told  him  in  plain  language  that  he  was 
"  the  falsest  man  in  the  world,"  and  that  henceforth  no 
lady  would  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  On  that 
Rigaut  departed  and  endeavored  to  make  peace  with  his 
first  love;  but  she,  too,  rejected  him,  and  he  found  himself 
beyond  the  pale  entirely,  an  outcast  from  the  world  of 
love  and  poetry. 

Conscious  of  inner  worth  and  outward  lack  of  address, 
he  came  home  to  Barbezieux  even  more  disappointed  and 
distressed  than  I  was  after  searching  there  vainly  half  a 
da}'  for  something  truly  historic.'^  Perhaps,  like  me,  he 
wandered  off  along  the  low  ridge  of  the  serpentine  hill, 
and  found  a  melanchol}-  solace  in  pools  and  windmills  ; 
but  there  came  a  time  when  even  windmills  lost  their 
power  to  comfort.  "  When  the  head  grieves,  the  mem- 
bers fail,"  ran  another  saying  ;  and  without  love  Rigaut 
felt  entirely  lost.  He  was  a  poet  who  delighted  to  display- 
his  cleverness,  to  say  things  in  a  new  way,  to  find  analo- 


320 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


gies  not  only  among  men,  but  among  beasts  and  birds, 
and  even  in  the  sun  and  the  stars, — in  fine  a  thoughtful, 
observant  man  ;  but  there  was  no  longer  any  delight  in 
composing  a  song  and  ornamenting  it  with  such  ingenious 
novelties.  His  inspiration  was  gone  ;  and  after  a  time, 
fleeing  to  the  forest,  he  made  himself  a  dwelling  there, 
and  vowed  he  would  live  a  hermit  until  his  lady  would 
forgive  him. 


NEAR   BARBEZIEUX. 

Mutual  friends  begged  her  to  relent  ;  but  she  replied 
that  she  would  never  pardon  his  offence  unless  a  hundred 
knights  and  a  hundred  ladies,  all  of  them  lovers  true, 
should  come  to  her,  and — falling  on  their  knees  with 
their  hands  joined  as  in  pra3'er — implore  her  to  N'ield. 
Such  a  condition  was  refusal,  for  who  could  suppose  that 
so  great  a  number  of  lovers  would  assemble  at  her  distant 
abode  ? 


Rig'aut  de  Berbesiu  321 

[But  in  the  end  a  way  was  found.  At  Le  Puy,  as  you 
remember,  there  was  every  year  a  vast  gathering  of  the 
gallantest  people  of  the  Midi,  and  in  such  a  throng  it 
could  not  be  impossible  to  find  a  hundred  couples  willing 
to  take  a  little  trouble  for  a  lover  and  poet.  Thither 
went  the  lady, — wholly  in  ignorance,  we  are  to  suppose, 
of  what  was  planned,  and  thither,  too,  went  the  poet,  not 
ignorant  at  all  ;  and  then  at  a  convenient  moment  he 
made  his  appearance,  and  in  his  cleverest  poem  called 
upon  the  assembly  for  help.'] 

As  the  elephants  that  fall 
Cannot  gain  their  feet  again 
Till  the  rest  cry  out,  but  then — 
Lifted  by  their  voices — rise, 
I  seek  aid  in  just  this  wise, 
Because  my  faults  dismay  me  and  appall ; 
And  if  the  court  of  rich  Le  Puy  and  all 
These  loyal  lovers  cannot  raise  me  here, 
I  ne'er  shall  rise  and  ne'er  be  raised,  I  fear  ; 
So  let  all  deign  to  intercede  for  me 
Where  reason  doth  not  help  nor  any  plea. 

Should  this  aid  be  found  too  small 
To  unbar  the  griefs  that  pen 
My  sad  heart,  no  more  shall  men 
Hear  me  sing  ;  as  one  that  dies 
Count  me  then  ;  a  hermit's  guise 
Shall  e'er  be  mine  ;  and  I  will  shun  the  hall 
Where  people  chat,  for  hopeless  life  would  gall, 
And  joys  give  pain,  and  pleasures  bring  no  cheer  ; 
For  I  am  not  like  bears  of  which  we  hear. 
That  when  they  're  starved  grow  fat  in  like  degree. 
And  when  they  're  beaten  thrive  more  lustily.* 

When  the  song  ended,  the  requisite  number  of  couples 

besieged  the  lady,  and  perforce  her  pardon  was  bestowed. 

After  this  dramatic  reconciliation,  the  two  were  happ3- 


32  2  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

again,  though  nevermore  than  Platonic  lovers;  and  when 
the  lady  died  Rigaut,  finding  the  familiar  places  full  of 
sadness,  went  down  to  Spain  and  there  passed  the  re- 
mainder of  his  life.' 

Angouleme  again  ;  this  time  as  evening  drew  on  I 
made  my  circuit  of  the  town  below  instead  of  upon  the 
ramparts.  For  a  long  while — that  is,  a  short  while — 
after  the  shadows  of  the  valley  encompassed  me,  radiance 
from  the  western  sky  lighted  up  the  walls  on  that  side, 
until  their  brightness  and  loftiness  made  them  seem  to 
belong  rather  to  the  heavens  than  the  earth.  As  night 
came  on  in  earnest  and  the  stars  appeared,  this  illusion 
vanished,  but  only  to  be  succeeded  by  another.  There 
was  no  moon,  and  the  walls — in  reality  barely  visible — 
showed  themselves  in  fugitive  shapes  due  more  to  fancy 
than  to  vision.  Little  by  little  the  old  battlements  came 
back,  and  looked  as  dark  and  threatening  as  when  the 
three  counts  waited  behind  them  for  the  coming  of  Richard. 
One  by  one  the  old  towers  mounted  to  their  places.  Once 
more  barbican  and  moat  guarded  the  approach,  and  the 
drawbridge  and  portcullis  hung  again,  I  felt  sure,  at  the 
entrance. 

Little  by  little,  too,  signs  of  a  martial  population  made 
themselves  felt.  Vague,  shapeless  murmurings  trembled 
on  the  air.  The  clash  of  steel,  a  neigh,  a  far  trumpet, 
distant  music,  the  feet  of  dancers, — these  were  among  the 
sounds  I  fancied  that  I  heard.  A  sentry,  roused  by  a 
thought  of  danger  from  his  carousing,  mounted  to  the 
ramparts  with  a  clang  of  armor  and  looked  down  upon 
me,  though  in  the  darkness  of  the  valley  my  figure,  small 
from  such  a  height,  was  of  course  invisible.  For  some 
time  the  soldier  stood  there  against  the  sky  with  his  left 
hand  on  the  pommel  of  his  sword  and  the  staff  of  a  spear 
in  his  right,  turning  his  head  to  this  side  and  that  as  he 
examined  the  country  and  the  horizon.     From  somewhere 


An  Hour  in  the  Past  323 

beyond,  a  fling  of  song — a  soldier's  ballad — came  over  the 
wall,  and  was  broken  off  with  a  langh.  The  sentry  turned 
and  threw  back  a  jest  and  a  snatch  of  refrain,  and  then 
passed  on  his  wa}-. 

A  light  flashed  in  a  window,  the  casement  opened,  and 
for  an  instant  a  proud,  handsome  face  looked  wistfully 
out.  Then  it  withdrew  ;  and  presently,  like  a  purple 
curtain  blown  softly  in  the  breeze,  there  came  down  to 
me  in  an  alto  voice  a  famous  Morning-Song,  composed 
by  an  unknown  troubadour,  probabh-  a  woman  : 

Beneath  a  hawthorn  bendiug  low  to  hide, 
A  lady  holds  her  lover  by  ber  side 
Till  cries  the  watch  that  stars  no  longer  bide  ; 
Alas,  alas  ;  the  morn,  how  soon  it  comes  ! 

"  Oh  would  to  God  that  night  had  never  gone, 
That  from  my  side  my  lover  were  not  drawn. 
That  still  the  watch  saw  not  the  rising  dawn  ! 
Alas,  alas  ;  the  morn,  how  soon  it  comes  ! 

"  O  fair,  sweet  friend,  for  one  more  kiss  I  plead. 
Where  chant  the  little  birds  in  yonder  mead  ; 
Of  jealous  folk  oh  let  us  have  no  heed  ! 
Alas,  alas  ;  the  morn,  how  soon  it  comes  ! 

'O  fair,  sweet  friend,  taste  one  more  joy,  new-ripe, 
Where,  full  of  birds,  dark  trees  the  garden  stripe, 
Ere  yet  the  watch  can  wind  his  mellow  pipe  ; 
Alas,  alas  ;  the  morn,  how  soon  it  comes  ! 

"  How  sweet  the  breeze  from  yonder  field  that  blows, 
Where  my  fair  friend,  so  gay,  so  courtly,  goes  ! — 
His  breath  I  'm  drinking,  not  the  scent  of  rose  ! 
Alas,  alas  ;  the  morn,  how  soon  it  comes  !  " 

Engaging,  charming  is  the  lady, — sweet. 
And  lovely  ;  many  glances  on  her  meet ; 
Yet  more  sincere  no  loving  heart  could  beat ; 
Alas,  alas  ;  the  morn,  how  soon  it  comes  ! '" 


POITIERS 
The  Origins  of  Troubadour  Poetry 

TO  bookish  folk  like  us  what  could  be  more  interesting 
than  the  genesis  of  a  literature  ?  What  shall  be 
said  when  it  is  a  modern  literature,  the  most  cultivated 
literature  of  its  age,  the  literature  not  of  a  nation  but  of  a 
civilization,  in  short  the  literature  of  Europe  and  of 
America  ? 

We  are  now  at  the  starting-point,  and  the  record  we 
find  is  this:  "In  the  beginning",  Guilhem,  Duke  of 
Aquitaine  ' " ;  for  all  agree  that  the  troubadours  were  the 
first  art- workers  in  language  of  the  modern  world,  and 
that  Guilhem' s  poetry  is  the  oldest  of  the  kind. 

But  what  preceded  him  ?  The  question  is  not  an- 
swered b}^  the  troubadours  nor  by  the  men  of  their  da}-, 
for  at  the  first  no  one  thought  it  worth  while  to  make  an 
explanation,  and  later  no  one  could.'  It  seems  for  a  mo- 
ment as  if  there  went  forth  a  fiat,  ' '  Let  there  be  poetr}' ! ' ' 
and  there  was  poetry  ;  but  we  feel  bound  to  look  for 
elements  and  causes,  and  modern  scholarship  has  pierced 
the  v^eil. 

In  a  word,  then,  Romance  poetry,  like  the  Romance 
languages,  descended  from  the  Latin. 

But  the  Latins  had  several  languages, — at  least  three  : 
the  classic  literary  speech,  the  social  idiom  of  the  cultivated 
people,  and  the  homely  tongue  of  the  common  folks, — 
sermo  plebeius.     From  which  did  the  Provencals  inherit  ? 

324 


The  Origins  of  Their  Poetry  325 

Evidently  from  the  speech  of  the  plebs,  the  common 
people  ;  for,  as  we  saw  at  Kgletons,  the  Latin  teachers  of 
the  Gallic  masses  were  the  legionaries,  the  artisans,  the 
traders,  and  the  camp-followers  of  their  Latin  conquerors, 
and  it  was  the  language  of  these  uneducated  Romans, 
modified  by  time  and  affected  somewhat  by  contact  with 
local  idioms,  that  made  the  Provencal  tongue. 

Now  this  vulgar  Latin  had  a  prosod}^  and  a  poetr}'  of 
its  own,  while,  as  we  all  know,  the  versification  of  the 
classic  poets  was  imported  from  Greece.  To  be  sure  we 
have  almost  none  of  this  ancient  popular  v^erse,  but  the 
indications  of  its  prev^alence  are  unmistakable.  For  one 
thing,  the  comic'dramatists  of  Rome,  wishing  to  please  th« 
masses,  broke  away  from  classic  prosody  and  wrote  what 
seem  like  faulty  metres, — not  from  want  of  skill  but,  as 
Terentianus  Maurus  expressly  states,  from  design.  An- 
other indication  is  the  effort  made  by  several  poets  to 
reconcile  the  popular  prosody  based  on  accent  and  the 
classical  based  on  quantity.  In  Ennius  and  Naevius,  for 
example,  out  of  fifteen  hundred  ictuses  less  than  a  quarter 
(twent\^-two  per  cent.)  fail  to  conform  to  the  word  accent, 
and  manj^  of  these  raa}^  not  have  been  exceptions  after  all. 
Even  Horace  appears  to  have  studied  the  same  device  ; 
for,  as  Greenough  has  recently  pointed  out,  in  using  his 
two  favorite  rhythms,  the  Sapphic  and  the  Alcaic,  he  took 
pains  to  write  in  such  a  way  that  whether  his  verse  were 
scanned  or  read  the  ictuses  would  fall  in  the  same  places. 
There  was,  then,  a  popular  Latin  poetr}-  essentially  differ- 
ent in  its  versification  from  the  compositions  of  Virgil  and 
Catullus. 

In  the  process  of  time  the  gulf  between  the  literary 
tongue  and  the  speech  of  the  people  widened  so  much  that 
study  was  needed  to  understand  the  former  ;  and  when 
the  barbaric  invasions  led  to  the  destruction  of  the  lettered 
nobility,  the  closing  of  the  secular  schools,  and  the  general 


,26 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


abandonment  of  study,  all  the  treasures  of  Roman  litera- 
ture were  in  effect  buried  and  lost.  Practically  the  pro- 
ducts of  L,atin  culture  were  obliterated. 

So  much  the  greater  opportunity  came  for  the  speech 
and  the  poetry  of  the  people.  Toward  the  end  of  the  fifth 
centur}-  the  authors  of  such  verse  widely  superseded  the 
rhetors  as  purveyors  of  intellectual  amu.sement,  and  this 
was  perhaps  largely  due  to  the  fact  that  nuisic  went  with 


THE   CLAIN    AT    POITIERS. 


verse — poetry  could  be  sung.  From  this  time  down  to  the 
eleventh  century,  poems  of  this  de.scription  were  dotibtless 
retailed  from  town  to  town  in  Gaul  as  well  as  in  Italy  by 
strolling  artists  called  scum'  or  thyinelici,  or  as  time  went 
on  histriones,  mi)iistralcs,  or  Joculaiores,  and  so  in  the  ver- 
nacular of  Provence  joglars.  When  Constance  of  Aries 
went  up  to  Paris  to  marry  King  Robert,  we  read  that  she 
had  among  her  followers  a  throng  of  oddly  dressed  and 


The  Origins  of  Their  lN)etry  327 

ill-behaved  men  :  these  were  probablj^  joglars,  and  we  find 
man}-  other  evidences  of  their  existence." 

Wliat  sort  of  poetry  throve  in  snch  a  soil  we  can  easil}' 
guess,  and  besides  we  are  not  without  information  ;  for 
although  none  of  it  survived,  we  can  infer  from  priestly 
denunciations  that  it  was  frivolous,  coarse,  and  often  in- 
decent. In  form  it  was  naturally  the  roughest  possible  ; 
for,  although  nobles  often  patronized  such  entertainments, 
they  were  intended  primaril}'  for  the  populace,  and  indeed 
at  that  time  the  lord  was  about  on  a  level  with  his  peasantry 
so  far  as  culture  was  concerned.  Here,  then,  we  have  the 
parent  stream,  flowing  from  the  plebs  of  old  Rome  down  to 
Xheplebs  of  southern  France  in  the  eleventh  century.  But 
the  stream — or  at  least  the  ground  through  which  it  flowed 
— was  tinged  meanwhile  with  several  foreign  elements. 

First,  we  raaj'  name  the  influence  of  Greece.  Allusions 
have  already  been  made  to  the  Hellenic  settlers  at  Mar- 
seille and  along  the  lower  valley  of  the  Rhone,  and  of 
course  their  blood  ma}-  hav^e  signified  a  little  ;  but  I  refer 
especially  to  Grecian  culture,  and  this  was  confined  to  no 
such  narrow  locality.  To  cite  but  a  single  testimony, 
Justin  has  recorded  that  one  would  have  thought  from  the 
civilization  of  Gaul,  not  that  Greece  had  emigrated  to  this 
land,  but  that  Gaul  had  been  transported  into  Greece. 
As  far  as  Roman  civilization  went  in  Gaul,  the  culture  of 
the  Greeks  went  likewise,  and  we  know  how  far  that  was. 
Lyons,  on  the  northern  edge  of  the  troubadour  world,  was 
the  birthplace  of  Claudius  ;  Nero  rebuilt  the  town  after  a 
conflagration,  and  Trajan  gave  it  a  magnificent  forum, 
lyimoges,  still  on  the  upper  boundarj-,  was  full  of  Roman 
baths  and  temples  ;  and  Poitiers,  still  farther  north,  was 
the  home  of  Fortunatus.  A  culture  so  general  and  so 
deep  could  not  fail  to  modify  the  intellect  of  the  race,  and 
so  bear  fruit  when  this  intellect  awoke  to  self-consciousness 
in  literature.'' 


J 


28  The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Another  influence  arrived  from  the  north,  the  Visigoths. 
A  singular  fate  befell  this  people  :  it  disappeared  ;  for 
masses  of  the  Visigoths,  after  overrunning  southern 
France  in  all  directions,  were  completely  absorbed  there. 
But  it  does  not  follow  that  nothing  survived.  The  rain 
that  sinks  into  the  soil,  not  that  which  runs  noisily  awaj^ 
in  the  torrent,  gives  us  the  spring,  the  lake,  and  the  river  ; 
and  the  Teutonic  genius  of  the  Visigoths,  virile  even  if 
not  so  violent  as  their  kin,  intensely  germinant  and 
quickening  like  the  Teutonic  genius  everywhere,  could 
not  fail  of  its  effect. 

So  much  for  east  and  north  ;  now  let  us  turn  to  the 
south.  Early  in  the  present  century  troubadour  poetry 
was  looked  upon  as  derived  from  the  Saracens  of  Spain — 
the  Moors — and  one  or  two  recent  English  authors  have 
written  somewhat  in  the  same  strain.  This  theory  was 
demolished  some  time  ago,  however.  The  Moorish  poets 
were  only  imitators,  rather  dry  and  rather  tasteless,  not 
the  fountain  of  a  fresh  literar\'  life.  We  do  not  need  to 
look  for  the  origin  of  the  Prov^engal  tenso  in  the  give-and- 
take  of  Arab  and  Persian  dialogue,  as  some  have  done,  for 
the  same  thing  appeared  in  Latin  two  centuries  earlier. 
The  fact  that  women  are  found  as  authors  on  both  sides  of 
the  Pyrenees  and  in  no  other  literature  of  the  time  hardly 
seems  an  argument.  As  Bruce-Whyte  says,  Arab  poetry 
differed  essentially  in  ideas  and  manner  from  troubadour 
poetry  ;  and  according  to  Suchier  the  dance  is  the  only 
verse-form  of  the  troubadours  that  can  have  been  con- 
tributed by  the  Saracens,  though  possibly  we  may  find  a 
trace  of  their  influence  in  one  fashion  of  rhyming,  which 
seems  to  have  come  from  Spain  and  is  found  also  in 
Portuguese. 

But  I  venture  to  suggest  that  in  dismissing  the  notion 
of  a  direct  and  formal  indebtedness  of  the  Provencal  to  the 
Moor  we  have  not  said  the  last  word.     The  relations  be- 


The  Origins  of  Their  Poetry  329 

tween  the  two  sides  of  the  P3'renees  were  close  for 
centuries.  It  was  near  Tours,  entirely  to  the  north  of 
troubadour-land,  that  Charles  Martel  defeated  the  army 
of  the  Prophet.  For  hundreds  of  years  the  Saracens  trod 
the  meadows  and  vallej-s  of  the  Midi  in  every  quarter. 
Narbonne  was  one  of  their  capitals,  Carcassonne  one  of 
their  fortresses.  Not  so  very  long  ago  Arab  inscriptions 
could  be  read  in  Marseille,  and  even  beyond  the  Rhone 
many  a  fair  spot  was  theirs  for  a  longer  or  shorter  period. 
Wherever  the)-  went  they  were  sure  to  leave  not  only  an 
influence  but  more  or  less  debris  ;  and  we  have  already 
seen  how  Aubusson,  to  the  north  of  Ventadorn,  was 
founded  by  Saracen  refugees  from  the  slaughter  of  Tours. 

Nor  were  these  hostile  relations  by  any  means  the  only 
ones.  Arab  coins  have  been  found  as  far  north  as  the 
Gulf  of  Finland,  and  in  times  of  peace  Arab  traders  no 
doubt  visited  every  corner  of  the  Midi.  Arabic  literature 
was  no  stranger  in  this  region.  Jeanroy  says  that  almost 
all  of  the  tales  on  which  the  fabliaux  of  northern  France 
were  based  came  from  the  east,  and  the  resemblance  be- 
tween the  stories  of  Pierre  de  Provence  and  Prince 
Camaralzamau  of  the  Arabian  Nights  can  hardly  have 
been  accidental.  As  early  as  1 106  Petrus  Alfonsi  made  a 
collection  of  oriental  stories,  and  the  crusades  enormousl}- 
swelled  the  stream  of  such  literature. 

The  scientific  learning  of  the  Moors,  though  to  be  sure 
they  were  little  more  than  middlemen,  is  well  known. 
While  troubadour  verse  was  taking  shape  their  system  of 
reckoning,  the  Arabic  notation,  was  making  its  wa}-  in 
Christian  Europe.  The  Eleme^its  of  Euclid  was  brought 
into  western  Europe  in  1130  hy  an  Englishman,  Adelhard 
de  Earth,  who  found  it  in  the  Orient.  The  same  teacher 
published  an  arithmetic,  and  this  also  was  Arabian, — the 
work  of  the  celebrated  Alkharismi.  Another  arithmetic, 
published  in  1202  by  Leonard  of  Pisa,  was  brought  from 


330  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  east,  and  it  had  a  profound  influence  upon  mathe- 
matical science  in  Europe.  The  medical  skill  of  the 
Moors  enjoyed  the  highest  repute,  and  many  of  their 
recipes  found  their  way  into  general  use  outside  of  Spain. 
The  Arabs  were  the  teachers  of  Christian  Kurope  in 
astronomy,  physics,  and  chemistry  also,  and  it  was  much 
the  same  in  the  industrial  arts.  From  them  came  the 
cotton  paper  which  began  to  be  used  late  in  the  twelfth 
century.  Even  the  Church  paid  them  homage,  for  it 
burned  their  incense.  In  a  word,  as  Rambaud  declares, 
"  the  Arabs  had  a  civilization  far  superior  to  that  of 
Europe";  and  as  for  their  gifts  of  expression  we  find 
even  Peire  Cardinal  wishing  that  he  possessed  their  sen- 
tentiousness. 

Now  for  at  least  six  hundred  years,  we  are  told  by  Van 
Schack,  poetry  was  eagerly  cultivated  by  the  Arabs  of 
Spain,  and  the  mere  names  of  the  poets  would  fill  entire 
volumes.  Every  social  relation,  every  activity  of  life  was 
"  overgrown  "  with  poetry.  All,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest,  made  verses, — the  princes,  the  beggars,  and  even 
the  women  of  the  harems,  and  poetic  talent  was  enough 
to  raise  a  man  to  an  exalted  rank.  The  commonplaceness 
of  the  written  product  is  largely  due  to  the  fashion  of  im- 
provisation, but  that  very  fashion  gave  the  poetry  a  special 
effect  at  the  time. 

Bearing  all  this  in  mind,  recalling  how  many  Saracen 
contributions  we  actually  find  in  the  culture  of  mediaeval 
Europe,  remembering  that  both  Moors  and  Provencals 
were  continually  crossing  the  boundary,  we  can  hardly 
doubt  that  the  propinquity  of  this  witty,  refined,  and 
superior  people,  spirited  and  spiritucl,  had  a  great  in- 
fluence in  moulding  the  quick  and  susceptible  mind  of 
Provence,  and  so  in  eventuallj^  coloring  its  literary 
output. 

This  appears  more  probable  still  when  we  recollect  that 


The  Origins  of  Their  Poetry  331 

even  though  ladj'-service  was  not  practised  south  of  the 
Pyrenees,  a  system  of  chivalr}-  was  developed  there  as 
well  as  on  the  northern  slope  ;  and  the  probability  seems 
again  enhanced  when  we  discover  among  the  joglars  the 
rebec '  and  a  whole  group  of  musical  instruments  which 
came  to  them  in  all  probability  from  Spain ;  for  today  one 
seldom  finds  a  guitar  without  a  Spanish  serenade  near  by, 
and  when  the  instrument  crossed  the  PN-renees,  doubtless 
the  song  crossed  with  it.  Direct  and  formal  influence  of 
Moorish  on  Proveufal  poetry  we  deny,  then,  but  we 
concede  a  formative  influence.  It  had  an  effect  that  we 
cannot  measure  or  trace,  but  we  may  think  of  it  as  a  per- 
fume, indistinguishable  yet  not  lost  in  the  general  fra- 
grance of  troubadour  verse. 

But  the  people  of  the  Midi  were,  after  all,  Celts, — we 
must  not  forget  that :  for,  as  Matthew  Arnold  said,  ' '  Gaul 
was  Latinized  in  language,  manners,  and  laws,  and  yet 
her  people  remained  essentialh'  Celtic." 

Here  again  we  maj^  give  too  much  credit  or  perhaps  too 
little.  Bartsch  undertook  to  prove  a  direct  indebtedness 
of  French  and  Provengal  poets  to  Celtic  versification,  but 
his  theory  did  not  take  root.  Yet  there  is  more  to  be  said. 
Reference  has  alread\-  been  made  to  the  bardic  sacredness 
that  may  easily  have  lingered  among  the  descendants 
of  Druid  worshippers,  and  may  appear  both  in  the  lofty 
moral  tone  of  many  a  sirvente  and  in  the  respect  with 
which  the  scourging  was  received  ;  and  there  must  have 
been  survivals  of  Celtic  poetry  and  music  to  have  their 
effect,  whether  traceable  or  not,  on  the  productions  of  a 
later  da}-.  But  a  far  deeper  and  far  wider  influence 
existed. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  facts  of  history  is  the  vital- 
ity of  Celtic  ideas.  This  appears,  for  example,  in  the  sur- 
vival and  recent  success  of  the  Arthurian  legends,  and  the 
story  of  Tristan  and  Yseult, — "  perhaps  the  most  marvel- 


332  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

lous  love-poem  that  humanity  has  produced  ' ' ;  and  Gaston 
Paris  has  declared  that  no  more  striking  phenomenon  can 
be  found  in  the  literary  history  of  the  world  than  such 
conquests  of  the  Celtic  spirit.  But  these  are  not  the  only 
illustrations.  According  to  Guilbert  traces  of  the  Druid 
cult  of  the  fountain  still  exist  in  Poitou.  Celtic  festivals 
have  been  celebrated  even  up  to  our  own  day  in  the  prov- 
inces of  France.  "  More  than  one  plant  of  tne  woods, 
more  than  one  bird  or  one  reptile,  is  the  subject  of  legends 
long  ago  repeated  b}^  the  Gauls."  The  girls  of  many 
countr}'  districts  are  still  enjoying  good  stories  that  em- 
body the  oldest  religious  conceptions  of  the  race.  There, 
too,  "  under  Latin  names  the  Gallic  fairies  have  preserved 
their  power.  They  often  appear  among  the  rocks  and  the 
trees  in  the  ancient  forests,  where  the  Black  Huntsman 
still  rides  through  the  storm  on  his  frightful  chase."  And 
Renan  speaks  of  "  all  the  Middle  Ages"  as  "  undergoing 
the  influence  of  the  Celtic  imagination." 

Now  the  Celts  were  naturally  and  always  poetical,  and 
even  in  the  oldest  days  ridiculed  "  the  creeping  Saxon." 
The  Gauls  are  said  to  have  been  the  only  people  who 
sang  as  thej'  prepared  for  battle,  and  old  Posidonius  tells 
of  an  Arvernian  bard  who  served  King  Luern,  running 
behind  his  chariot  and  singing  his  praise.  The  wit  of  the 
Celt  was  quick  and  his  tongue  never  far  behind  it  ;  his 
feeling  was  keen  and  not  too  profound  for  easy  expression ; 
and  as  for  the  content  of  his  poetr}-,  says  Arnold,  "  j-ou 
have  only  so  much  interpretation  of  the  world  as  the  first 
dash  of  a  quick,  strong  perception  and  then  sentiment,  in- 
finite sentiment,  can  bring  you."  Does  not  all  this  re- 
mind us  vividly  of  the  troubadours  ? 

Did  the  race  instinct  affect  more  than  the  spirit  of  Pro- 
vencal poetr}'  ?  Certainly  spirit  and  form  cannot  wholly 
be  separated.  Here  is  a  bit  of  ornament  :  are  not  its  in- 
terweaving lines — here  turning  back  to  shape  the  figure, 


The  Origins  of  Their  Poetry  333 

and  there  linking  one  figure  to  another — are  they  not  al- 
most a  "  graphic  "  representation  of  troubadour  rhyming  ? 
Well,  this  is  a  bit  of  Celtic  work  from  Tlic  Book  of  Kclls, 
and  the  more  one  considers  the  characteristic  designs  of 
these  people,  full  of  such  interweaving  lines,  the  more,  as 
it  seems  to  me,  one  must  feel  the  Celtic  influence  in  cer- 
tain distinctive  features  of  troubadour  versification.  To 
be  sure  interweaving  has  been  practised  by  all  rude  peo- 
ples, but  none  have  elaborated  it  like  the  Celts.  To  be 
sure,  also,  they  may  have  received  the  idea  from  Byzantine 
artists,   but  according  to  Shaw  their  patterns   were  of 


CELTIC   ORNAMENT. 

Celtic  origin,  and  at  all  events  the  style  must  have  been 
peculiarly  congenial, — Westwood  says  that  under  the 
microscope  he  found  one  hundred  and  fifty-eight  inter- 
lacings  in  a  quarter  of  a  square  inch  of  such  ornament 
without  one  false  line. 

The  end  of  our  quest  already  seems  in  sight.  We  have 
the  Latin  stream,  tinged — though  w^e  cannot  say  just  how 
much — by  Greeks,  Goths,  and  Saracens,  and  profoundly 
colored  by  the  Celts  ;  or  more  exactly  we  have  it  flowing 
through  a  people  tinged  and  colored  in  this  way,  and 
ready  to  press  their  qualities  into  the  stream  when  the 
time  should  come. 

The  time  has  arrived. 

The  eleventh  century  is  drawing  to  a  close,  and — as  we 
have  seen — the  spirit  of  a  new  life  is  all-pervasive.  Con- 
ducted by  Gaston  Paris  we  find  our  way  to  a  little  meadow 


334  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

among  the  hills  of  Aquitaine, — of  southern  Poitou,  let  me 
say.  It  is  the  first  of  May,  the  time  when  nature  takes  on 
the  renewal  of  the  year,  when  life  scorns  everything  but 
the  impulse  to  push  forth,  to  expand,  and — if  you  please — 
to  riot.  The  grass  invades  without  shame  the  beaten 
path,  and  a  little  way  off  the  flowers  reach  out  their  hands 
and  even  their  cheeks  to  the  full  and  curling  brook. 
Among  the  leaves  of  the  beeches — luxuriant  and  delicious 
— the  twittering  birds  wantonly  pursue  their  loves,  while 
vines  wreathe  the  oaks  with  soft  and  cares.sing  folds.  It 
is  the  time  of  love, — not  reflective,  intellectual,  and  su- 
perior love,  but  simply  the  abandon  of  natural  vitality, 
expressing  its  own  will  and  seeking  its  own  pleasure. 

Nature,  however,  does  not  occupy  all  the  scene.  In  the 
centre  of  the  meadow  there  is  a  group  of  girls  and  young 
women,  attended  rather  than  accompanied  by  men  and 
older  women  ;  and  yet  perhaps  I  .should  saj^  that  the 
young  men  and  especially  the  young  women  are  a  part 
of  nature,  for  certainly  the  same  mood  is  upon  them, 
lyet  us  not  infer  that  they  are  wantons,  however,  though 
perhaps  the}^  appear  such.  Some  will  probably  forget 
themselves,  for  we  know  to  what  abuses  the  May-day 
festivities  gave  rise,  and  how — for  example — the  English 
Puritans  came  to  abhor  even  the  most  innocent  of  them. 
But  as  a  perfectly  correct  Parisian  and  his  wife  enjoy 
listening  to  the  freest  sort  of  expressions  at  the  theatre 
or  the  garden-concert,  most  of  these  young  women  have 
no  intention  whatever  of  going  astray,  yet  for  the  mere 
sake  of  relief  crave  a  moment  of  complete  freedom.  Yester- 
day, tomorrow,  all  the  rest  of  the  year — duty,  subjection, 
and  obedience  to  men  or  to  mothers  ;  but  for  today  a 
breath  of  license,  of  exuberance,  and  of  mockery, — all  the 
more  necessar}^  perhaps,  because  an  instinct  of  liberty  has 
come  down  to  them  from  the  Gallic  women,  who  selected 
their  own  husbands  and  wielded  great  authority. 


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THE  ORIGINAL    MUSIC  OF  "NOW   THE  WEATHER  S  GETTING    BRIGHT' 

IN    MODERN    NOTATION. 


335 


The  Origins  of  Their  Poetry  337 

In  this  mood, after  a  good  deal  of  gay  and  scornful  banter 
— as  we  can  easily  imagine — with  the  men,  the  young  wo- 
men begin  to  dance,  while  the  other  sex  are  only  permitted 
to  look  on.  First  they  form  a  complete  circle,  and  in  that 
fashion  dance  the  "  round."  Then  a  break  is  made  and 
the  line  moves  around  from  right  to  left  after  the  leader  ; 
three  steps  forward,  then  an  instant's  balance  with  the  feet 
together,  and  then  on  again, — not  with  dignity  and  re- 
serve, as  we  saw  Pons  de  Capduelh  and  Lady  Alazais 
dance,  but  rompingly  and  even  recklessly,  perhaps.  A 
few  instruments  of  the  simplest  kind  mark  the  rhythm, 
but  the  real  accompaniment  of  the  dance  is  the  voices  of 
the  dancers.  The  leader  sings  a  stanza  and  the  rest  give 
the  chorus  ;  and  in  this  manner,  as  peasant  girls  do  still 
in  western  France — wild  roses  on  their  heads  and  violets 
in  their  bosoms — light  of  heart,  light  of  hand,  light  of 
foot,  with  glowing  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes,  intoxicated 
with  heedless  delight,  they  joyously  chant  their  fling  of 
momentary  emancipation "  : 


Now  the  weather  's  getting  bright,  heigho  ! 
And  the  queen  before  our  sight,  heigho! 
Joy  and  gladness  to  relight,  heigho  ! 
And  the  jealous  king  excite. 

Would  show  her  aiiorous  fancies. 

Chorus  : 
Go  awa}-,  jealous  man,  go  ! — away  ! 
Leave  us,  pray, — leave  us,  pray, 
To  dance  alone,  alone  today  ! 

She  has  bidden  all  invite,  heigho  ! 
None  this  side  the  sea  to  slight,  heigho  ! 
Maids  and  bachelors  polite,  heigho  ! 
All  are  here,  and  every  wight 
To  join  the  dance  advances. — Chorus. 

VOL.  11. — 22. 


338  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

From  the  other  side  like  nij^ht,  heigho  ! 
Comes  the  kiug  our  mirth  to  blight,  heigho  ! 
For  he  's  in  a  dreadful  fright,  heigho  ! 
I^est  one  steal  the  queen  outright, 
So  lively  are  her  glances. — Chorus. 

'T  is  for  uaught  he  shows  despite,  heigho  ! 
She  enjoys  the  old  man's  plight,  heigho  ! 
For  a  young  and  merry  knight,  heigho  ! 
Knows  what  solace  will  requite 

The  queen  who  all  entrances. — Chorus. 

All  who  see  her  step  so  light,  heigho  ! 
And  her  graceful  figure  might,  heigho  ! 
Say  with  utter  truth  and  right,  heigho  ! 
Queen  like  her  there  's  uoue,— delight 

There  's  none  as  when  she  dances.'' — Chorus. 


Here,  according  to  the  theor}-  of  Gaston  Paris,  we  see 
the  definite  starting-point  of  troubadour  poetry.'  The 
rough  songs  of  the  minstrels,  iho^joadatores,  the  joglars — 
tales  of  war  and  adventure,  harsh  satire,  stories  of  coarse 
jDassion — are  now  penetrated  by  a  fresh  cttrrent,  a  vernal 
flow  of  sentiment,  pure  in  the  sense  in  which  all  things 
natural  are  pure,  the  gospel  of  love  as  women  felt  it.  It 
is  only  a  theory,  of  course,  but  scholars  have  welcomed  it 
with  enthusiasm,  and  aside  from  the  explanation  of  a 
mystery — the  advent  of  .sentimental  passion — which  it 
offers,  there  is  verj-  strong  evidence  in  its  favor:  the 
troubadours  wore  the  birthmark  of  the  Ma}-  dances  in 
their  conventional  references  to  spring. 

The  impulse  of  modern  poetry,  of  modern  literature, 
has  now  l^een  given  ;  and  the  spot,  the  south  of  France, 
is  the  fittest  place.  There,  as  Mila  y  Fontanals  has  said, 
the  early  production  of  a  literature  was  favored  by  a 
kindly  climate,  by  traditions  of  Roman  culture,  by  an 
uiuisual  degree  of  peace  and  prosperit}',  by  commercial 


The  Orloins  of  Their  l\)etry  339 

prosperity,  and  by  the  timely  formation  of  a  rich  and 
melodious  language." 

The  poems  of  the  troubadours  were  ihe  embodiment  of 
all  the  elements  and  influences  that  we  have  traced. 

But  is  there  not  something  still  to  be  explained  ?  Rod}-, 
spirit, — yes  ;  but  the  distiucth-  artistic  and  courtly  man- 
ner of  troubadour  verse,  —  whence  came  that  ?  And 
whence  came  also  its  tone  of  profound  respect  and  even 
extreme  deference  toward  a  sex  that  had  been  regarded 
for  centuries  as  little  more  than  chattels  ?  '■' 


XLII 

POITIERS 

Guilhem  IX.,  Duke  of  Aquitaine 

IT  was  at  Poitiers,  where  the  djnng  light  of  Roman 
poesy  brightened  once  more  in  Fortunatus,  that  mod- 
ern artistic  verse — the  singing  of  the  troubadours — first 
appeared,  and  in  the  city  by  the  Clain  we  meet  that  great 
prince  and  great  man,  Guilhem  IX.,  Duke  of  Aquitaine, 
whose  long  shadow  has  been  upon  our  pathway  for  many 
chapters.  History  tells  us  but  little  of  his  personalit}", 
and  the  glimpses  that  we  have  are  so  colored  by  the  pre- 
judice of  monkish  chroniclers  that  we  suspect  the  accuracy 
of  the  picture.'  Let  us  try  to  accumulate  a  few  documents 
of  our  own. 

Our  first  document  is  the  duke's  great-grandson,  Richard 
Coeur-de-Lion,  and  we  understand  his  nature  so  well, — 
his  valor,  wit,  force  of  will,  and  remarkable  intelligence, 
and  also  the  intense  animal  passions  which  so  often  over- 
powered all  his  better  qualities, — that  we  can  read  it  with- 
out pausing. 

The  next  is  Richard's  mother,  the  duke's  grand- 
daughter, Eleanor.  She,  too,  has  appeared  already  be- 
fore us,  for  she  befriended  Bernart  de  Ventadorn  and 
became  his  ' '  Comfort ' ' ;  but  as  yet  we  have  seen  onl}'  one 
side  of  her  nature  and  should  hardh^  suspect  the  others. 
She  was  the  queen  of  both  France  and  England,  but  France 
repudiated  and  England  imprisoned  her.     She  despised 

340 


The  First  of  the  Troubadours  341 

her  first  husband  because  he  was  not  human  enough,  and 
hated  her  second  because  he  was  too  human.  Herself  the 
mistress  of  a  troubadour,'  she  hunted  to  death  her  hus- 
band's mistress.  Though  a  loved  and  loving  mother,  she 
cursed  her  children  bj-  setting  them  in  rebellion  against 
their  father.  Too  nuich  a  queen  to  be  a  woman,  and  too 
much  a  woman  to  be  a  queen,  she  was  more  an  enemy  to 
herself  than  to  any  one  else,  and  used  her  pride  to  secure 
her  own  humiliation.  But  in  all  her  life,  in  her  loves  and 
her  hates,  in  her  doing  and  her  suffering,  we  see  the 
mother  of  Richard,  powerful  in  mind,  inflexible  of  will, 
gifted,  passionate,  and  intensely  human. 

Eleanor's  father  was  very  good  in  his  last  years,  but 
no  ordinary  experience  brought  him  to  that  spirit  ;  the 
Church  was  long  his  enemy,  and  when  he  drove  the 
bishops  of  Poitiers  and  Angouleme  from  their  chairs  all 
the  power  of  the  Holy  See  was  brought  against  him. 

At  the  great  door  of  the  cathedral  at  Parthenay  stood 
the  haughty  duke  one  day,^ — -an  athlete  in  force  and 
almost  a  giant  in  figure,  clad  in  the  panopl}'  of  war  that 
he  loved  so  well.  His  brilliant  and  restless  eyes  told  the 
'story  of  his  proud  and  ambitious  career,  of  passions  never 
checked,  of  a  will  never  thwarted,  and  of  a  courage  never 
daunted.  Wit,  warrior,  and  sceptic,  a  lover  of  pleasure 
and  pomp,  a  king  in  power  and  almost  in  prerogative,  he 
stood  there  confident,  merr}-,  and  magnificent.  He  did 
not  enter,  for  the  Church  had  excommunicated  him  ;  but 
he  was  not  alone.  Around  him  pressed  a  noisj-  crowd  of 
vassal  nobles  and  bold  men-at-arms,  reflecting  his  glory, 
anticipating  his  wishes,  and  laughing  long  at  his  keen 
je.sts. 

At  the  altar  mass  was  being  said  b}-  a  singularly  feeble 
and  humble  monk,  a  visitor.  He  was  of  about  the  middle 
height,  though  his  figure  gained  an  appearance  of  height 
from  its  thinness.     His  robe  was  cheap  and  coarse,  and  his 


342 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


shoes— heavy  and  strong,  fit  for  long  journeys  on  rough 

ways — showed  the  grease  ap- 
plied with  his  own  hands. 
The  face  that  once  had  al- 
most the  beauty  of  his  saintly 
mother  Aletta  was  hollow 
and  drawn,  though  a  tinge  of 
youthful  color  still  bright- 
ened it,  and  ever}-  now  and 
then  a  blush  passed  quickly 
over  his  cheeks.  Thin  golden 
hair  and  a  reddish  beard  lined 
with  grey  made  his  delicate 
features  appear  still  more 
ethereal.  He  was  accustomed 
to  cat  onlj-  a  bit  of  bread  dip- 
ped in  warm  water,  but  even 
of  this  he  had  not  partaken 
for  more  than  a  day,  and  his 
bearing  suggested  not  only 
frailty  but  faintness.  Yet  in 
all  his  weakness  and  humil- 
ity this  monk  was  the  ruler 
of  the  Christian  world, — un- 
crowned, untitled,  unap- 
pointed,  but  unquestioned  ; 
for  he  was  the  ' '  Last  of  the 
Fathers, " '  Bernard,  the  Saint 
of  Clairvaux. 

Slowly   and   solemnl)-    the 
mass  proceeded  as  usual ;  but 
suddenh'  with  the  swiftness 
AT  POITIERS.  of  inspiration  the  monk's  per- 

.son  became  transformed.     Krect  instead  of  bent,  quick  in- 
stead of  halting,  flu.shed  with  more  than  N'outhful  energy 


The  Duke  and  St.   Bernard  343 

and  fire,  he  seized  the  plate  of  theeucharist  and  bore  it 
with  firm  strides  toward  the  duke.  At  all  times  he  car- 
ried with  him,  so  people  felt,  an  atmosphere  of  the  super- 
natural, as  if  he  were  himself  a  revelation  of  the  heavenly 
and  the  eternal  ;  but  now  his  flashing  blue  eyes  appeared 
to  radiate  the  blinding  .splendors  of  the  Great  King,  and 
his  person  to  embody  the  grandeur  and  the  terror  of  the 
Judgment-Day. 

Holding  up  the  consecrated  wafer,  the  body  of  Christ, 
he  appealed  to  the  duke  with  the  tone  and  manner  of  an 
archangel  :  "  We  have  besought  you,  and  you  have 
spurned  us.  This  united  multitude  of  the  servants  of 
God,  meeting  you  everywhere,  has  entreated  you,  and 
you  have  despised  them.  Behold,  here  comes  to  you  the 
Virgin's  Son,  the  Head  and  Lord  of  the  Church  which 
you  persecute.  Your  Judge  is  here,  at  whose  name  every 
knee  shall  bow,  of  things  in  heav^en  and  things  on  earth 
and  things  under  the  earth.  Your  Judge  is  here,  into 
whose  hands  your  soul  is  to  pass.  Will  you  spurn  Him 
also  ?  Will  you  despise  Him  as  you  have  despised  His 
servants  ?  " 

An  awful  silence  came  upon  all  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  it 
the  great  duke  fell  to  the  ground  like  a  stunned  ox, 
still,  speechless,  and  insensible. 

We  go  back  one  generation  more.'  It  is  a  fair  day  in 
early  spring,  and  a  lusty  fellow  is  marching  with  power- 
ful strides  along  a  highway  of  Auvergne  just  beyond  the 
confines  of  Limousin.  Beside  the  road  the  rapids  and 
eddies  of  the  young  Dordogne  are  singing  ;  far  away  the 
mountains  of  the  Cantal  block  the  horizon  ;  and  in  the 
nearer  distance  the  peak  of  Sancy,  swept  by  a  ceaseless 
gale,  towers  above  the  baths  of  Mont  Dore,  famous  even 
in  the  days  of  Rome. 

Evidently  the  traveller's  heart  is  overflowing  with 
natural  joy,  precisely  like  the  hearts  of  bold  Robin  and 


344  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

his  men  when  a  few  5'ears  later  they  sally  forth,  according 
to  the  ballads,  from  the  glades  of  Sherwood  forest.  His 
eyes  roam  incessantly  hither  and  yon  ov^er  the  bright  ver- 
dure of  the  fields  or  the  radiant  blue  of  the  sky,  as  if 
drinking  of  their  inexhaustible  freshness.  From  time  to 
time  he  stoops  to  pluck  a  dandelion  or  a  buttercup,  and 
from  time  to  time  his  voice  breaks  out  into  a  snatch  of 
song, — now  this  : 

A  song  I  '11  make  you,  worthy  to  recall  ; 

With  ample  folly  and  with  sense  but  small. 

Of  joy,  young-heartedness,  and  love  will  I  compound  it  all  ^  ; 

and  now  this  other,  also  a  composition  of  Guilhem  IX., 
the  reigning  duke  of  Aquitaine  : 

When  verdant  meadows  reappear, 
And  green  invades  the  garden  sere. 
And  river  and  spring  begin  to  clear. 

And  zephyrs  blow. 
The  joy  that  fills  our  hearts  with  cheer 

Must  overflow.^ 

At  this  juncture  two  fair  ladies  on  palfrej'S  come  around 
the  turn  and  amiably  salute  the  pilgrim,  for  such  they 
take  him  to  be,  in  the  name  of  Sanh  lyaunart  (St. 
Leonard),  while  one  of  them  adds  a  compliment  on  his 
personal  appearance.  Evidently  they  do  not  recognize 
the  man  ;  but  he  knows  them  at  once,  and  instantly  plan- 
ning his  line  of  action  replies  only  with  a  meaningless 
babble  :   "  Bariol-barial-barian.'''' 

Plainly  he  is  dumb,  and  that,  in  the  ladies'  minds,  counts 
for  a  great  deal,  since — almost  as  dead  men  tell  no  tales — 
a  mute  is  likely  to  be  a  very  safe  confidant  in  an  age  when 
few  save  ecclesiastics  can  write. 

That  is  by  no  means  his  onl}-  recommendation,  however. 
His  figure,  considerably  above  the  average  in  height,  gives 


A  Traveller's  Adventure  345 

every  token  of  remarkable  strength.  Hair  that  is  thick, 
long,  and  Inxuriantly  blonde  frames  a  face  glowing  with 
health.  A  bold  chin,  broad  but  not  heavy,  answers  to  an 
aquiline  nose  packed  with  vital  force  ;  while,  fitl}^  com- 
pleting the  rest  of  his  person,  a  pair  of  bright  blue  eyes 
illuminate  his  rosy  face, — those  gleaming  blue  eyes  which 
flash  reflected  light  instead  of  light  from  within,  brilliant, 
superficial,  quick,  and  dazzling  ;  seeing  what  they  wish  to 
see  and  only  that  ;  telling  their  owner  a  great  deal  and 
the  rest  of  the  world  nothing  ;  but  still  gay,  merry,  fas- 
cinating, and  convincing." 

The  ladies  exchange  a  glance.  "  We  have  found  what 
we  have  been  looking  for,"  says  one  of  them  ;  from  which 
we  may  infer  that  the  husbands  of  both,  caring  more  for 
heaven  than  for  love,  had  gone  to  Palestine  in  the  armj- 
of  the  first  crusade.  Forthwith  our  traveller  is  taken 
home  by  the  merry  wives — not  of  Windsor — warmed  at 
the  fire,  and  privately  served  by  the  ladies  themselves 
with  a  fine  supper, — the  bread  white,  the  wine  excellent, 
and  the  pepper  strong. 

Still — horrible  doubt — perhaps  the  man  is  a  fraud,  per- 
haps he  can  talk  ;  so  after  supper  the  big  red  cat,  bristling 
with  moustaches,  is  brought  out  and  applied  to  his  bare 
back.  How  the  claws  tear,  when  Lady  Ermessen  drags 
the  creature  backward  by  its  tail  across  the  flesh  !  But 
the  mute  is  mute  still,  and  suspicion  closes  its  alread}- 
languid  e5'es. 

Not  many  days  after,  a  letter  was  brought  the  ladies 
from  the  duke  of  Aquitaine.  Ah,  how  honored  !  What 
could  his  lordship  desire  ?  Within  it  they  found  a  lively 
and  most  explicit  poem  recounting  all  that  had  taken 
place,  and  begging  them  patheticall}'  to  exterminate  that 
cat.     Such  was  the  duke  and  such  the  age. 

Poitiers,  Guilhem's  usual  and  final  abode,  is  a  fit  back- 
ground for  such  a  hero.     The  street-directory   (if  there 


o 


;46 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


were  such  a  thing)  might  be  mistaken  for  the  Calendar 
of  Saints,  and  in  studying  out  his  wa}-  the  stranger  learns 
perforce  prett}'  nearl}-  the  entire  hagiology.  The  glorious 
company  of  the  apostles,  the  goodl}'  fellowship  of  the 
prophets,  and  the  holy   army  of  martyrs  are  all  there. 


MOUTIERNEUF,    POITIERS. 


testifying  at  the  street  corners.  St.  C5'prian  has  a  boule- 
vard, a  street,  a  bridge,  and  a  faubourg.  The  daughters 
of  St.  Francis  have  given  their  name  and  blessing  to  a 
long  and  crooked  thoroughfare.  St.  Michel  watches  over 
the  court-house  on  one  side  and  St.  Didier  on  the  other. 
The  market  is  supervised  b}-  Notre  Dame  ;  the  Faculte 
can  only  be  approached  with  the  consent  of  Ste.  Oppor- 
tune ;  and  in  the  old  daj's  of  the  pillory  St.  Cybard  was  the 
conductor  of  the  malefactors.      The  soldiers  go   to  the 


Poitiers  347 

barracks  by  Trinity  vSt.,  Capuchin  St.,  and  Calvary  St., 
and  they  practise  their  manoeuvres  on  Magdalen  Field. 
The  Grand  Promenade  is  the  long  front  yard  of  a  Domini- 
can monastery;  and  St.  Hilary,  though  crowded  rather 
hard,  manages  to  keep  his  grasp  slill  on  a  church,  a 
square,  a  street,  and  a  market,  with  an  alley  or  two  as 
extras. 

All  these  and  man}-  more  religious  outworks — churches, 
nunneries,  monasteries,  and  schools  of  theology — rest  back 
upon  a  solid  mass  of  sacred  buildings  at  the  eastern  angle 
of  the  town  :  the  cathedral,  Ste.  Radegonde,  Les  Hospi- 
talieres,  the  Visitation,  the  Temple  of  St.  John,  the  Union 
Chretienne,  the  Convent  of  the  Holy  Cross,  the  Assump- 
tion, the  Daughters  of  Our  Lady,  and  the  Carmelites,— a 
veritable  fortress  of  ecclesiasticism  :  and  beyond  all  of 
these  rise  the  twin  pinnacles  of  Moutierneuf,  where  in  a 
sealed  chapel  under  the  pavement  Guilhem  IX.  reposes 
in  his  last  sleep.' 

To  be  sure  many  of  these  things  are  comparatively 
modern,  but  the  tone  of  the  place  was  apparently  the  same 
in  Guilhem's  day,  for  Poitiers  had  already  been  a  strong- 
hold of  pietj'  for  centuries.  Here  St.  Hilary  dwelt,  the 
staunch  ally  of  Athanasius  in  his  great  battle  with  Arius, 
supporting  life  entirely  in  his  last  years  with  a  broth  of 
flour  and  bruised  olives,  eaten  sparing!}-  when  the  sun 
had  gone  down."  Here,  too,  dwelt  Ste.  Radegonde,  the 
pious  and  learned  wife  of  King  Clotaire  ;  and  within  her 
church,  founded  only  a  twelvemonth  after  the  son  of 
Clovis  reunited  France,  the  faithful  still  gaze  with  rever- 
ence upon  a  footprint  of  God  impressed  upon  the  rock.^ 
The  cathedral,  founded  (1162)  by  Henry  II.  some  years 
before  Eleanor  built  what  is  now  the  Salle  des  Pas  Perdus,'" 
feels  like  a  modern  building  in  such  company,  but  a 
church  rose  in  the  same  place  (66  or  67),  it  is  thought, 
before  St.  Paul  had  "  fini.shed  his  course."     Moutierneuf 


348  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

feels  modern,  too  ;  but  it  was  consecrated  by  Pope  Urban 
himself  (1096)  when  the  troubadour-duke  was  twenty-five 
5'ears  old.  The  chiselled  front  of  Notre  Dame,"  the  richest 
Romanesque  facade  in  existence  except  one  in  remote 
Apulia,  invited  worshippers  long  before  Swegen  the  Dane 
overturned  the  throne  of  Alfred  the  Great  (1013)  ;  St. 
Hilaire  had  been  founded  when  Clovis  conquered  Alaric 
(507),  and  the  elegant  baptistery  called  the  "  Temple  of  St. 
John ' '  existed  at  least  a  century  or  two  before  that  3'ear. 
But  in  spite  of  his  religious  environment,  Guilhem,  our 
troubadour,  delighted  to  set  the  churchmen  at  naught. 
Once,  perhaps  for  a  hit  at  the  delinquencies  of  the  monks, 
he  sang  of  establishing  a  convent  at  Niort  with  loose  wo- 
men for  nuns  and  the  worst  of  the  lot  for  abbess  ;  and 
William  of  Malmesbury  recorded  gravel}^  that  he  carried 
out  the  idea.  Another  freak  of  his  was  more  serious. 
For  political  reasons  he  married  the  widow  of  the  king  of 
Aragon,  but  he  did  not  find  her  congenial.  The  wife  of 
the  viscount  of  Chatellerault  pleased  him  better  "  ;  so  he 
carried  her  off  and  installed  her  at  his  own  fireside.  The 
bishop  of  Angouleme  ordered  him  to  surrender  her,  but 
instead  of  that  he  had  her  picture  painted  on  his  buckler 
so  that  she  could  be  with  him — as  he  said — even  in  the 
thick  of  the  fight.  The  prelate — his  crown  was  bald — 
threatened  excommunication  ;  but  Guilhem  only  replied  : 
"  They  will  see  your  hair  well  combed  and  well  curled 
before  I  give  up  the  viscountess."  The  bishop  of  Poitiers 
then  took  up  the  quarrel  and  actually  began  the  formula 
of  excommunication,  whereupon  Guilhem  drew  his  sword 
and  ordered  him  to  choose  on  the  spot  :  absolution  or 
death.  But  the  bishop  was  equal  to  the  emergency. 
Begging  leave  to  consider  the  matter  an  instant  he  com- 
pleted the  formula  and  cried,  "  Now  strike  !  "  "  No," 
answered  the  duke,  "  I  don't  love  j^ou  enough  to  put  you 
in  Paradise,"  and  he  banished  him  instead.'^ 


Duke  Guilhem 


349 


But  licentiousness  and  violence  did  not  prevent  Guil- 
hem from  being  a  great  prince,  any  more  than  they  pre- 
vented his  great-grandson  Richard  from  being  a  mighty 
captain.  Coming  to  power  at  the  age  of  sixteen,"  he 
found  himself  threatened  in  more  quarters  than  one,  but 
soon  proved  able  by  diplomacy  and  arms  to  defend  his 


SALLE   DES  PAS  PERDUS,   POITIERS. 

rights."  All  his  life  he  was  engaged  in  great  or  little 
wars,  and  his  extraordinar}-  valor  is  well  attested.  Twice 
he  made  himself  the  master  of  Toulouse.  At  the  Council 
of  Clermont,  where  the  first  crusade  was  proclaimed,  he 
was  the  only  prince  of  western  Europe.  Four  years  later 
Ciioo)  he  took  the  cro.ss  at  Limoges  and  soon  after  led  a 
host  of  100,000  men  toward  Palestine.'"  In  Asia  Minor 
he,  like  so  many  others,  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  perils 
against  which  no  courage  could  avail,  and  in  the  end 
his  army  was  so  completely  destroyed  that  he  reached 


350  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Antioch  as  a  beggar  with  only  six  companions.  But  even 
this  did  not  quench  his  wit  and  good  humor,  for  he  com- 
posed a  spirited  poem  on  his  expedition  and  made  the 
world  laugh  and  weep  by  turns  over  his  experiences,- — -as 
he  would  us,  no  doubt,  had  not  the  poem  disappeared. 
Neither  did  he  lose  his  crusading  ardor,  for  eighteen  years 
later  (1119)  he  enlisted  against  the  Moors  of  Spain,  and 
had  a  share  in  the  great  victory  won  (1120)  by  the  king 
of  Aragon.  These  are  not  the  doings  of  a  mere  gallant. 
Indeed,  it  is  clear  from  his  charters  that  he  esteemed  virtue 
and  valued  people  of  worth  ;  and  even  the  clerical  authors 
of  the  Histoire  Litterairc  admit  this. 

In  fact  we  can  go  much  further.  There  was  a  deep 
religious  vein  in  his  family,  and  when  he  set  out  for  the 
crusade  against  the  Moors,  already  well  in  years  and  ex- 
pecting never  to  return,  he  wrote  a  last  song  bidding  fare- 
well to  life,  that  portrays  him  in  a  very  different  light. 


A  soug  I  '11  fashion  from  my  grief, 
For  that,  meseems,  will  bring  relief; 
No  longer  can  I  serve  my  fief — 
Poitou  and  Limousin,  good-bye  ! 

An  exile,  and  my  work  not  done. 
In  war  I  needs  must  leave  my  son. 
And  grievous  peril  he  will  run, 

With  those  who  mean  him  ill  so  nigh. 

Alas,  how  hard  it  is  to  do, — 
Give  up  the  lordship  o'er  Poitou  ; 
In  ward  to  Folco  of  Anjou 

His  cousin  and  the  land  give  I. 

If  by  the  king  my  liege  forgot, 
And  Folco  of  Anjou  aid  not. 
When  Angevins  and  Gascons  plot. 
Where  can  the  boy  for  safety  fly  ? 


Duke  Guilhem  351 

Unless  he  prove  him  brave  and  shrewd, 
With  me  not  here  to  stay  the  feud, 
He  soon  will  find  himself  subdued, — 
Mere  stripling,  easy  to  defy. 

If  I  have  wronged  him  any  way, 
I  beg  my  friend  for  pardon  ;  yea. 
In  Latin  and  Romance  I  pray 

For  grace  to  Jesus  throned  on  high. 

Valor  and  joy  my  life  have  been, 
But  here  the  parting  roads  begin. 
And  I  shall  go  where  all  who  sin 
Will  rest  untroubled  by  and  by. 

A  winning  grace  I  gayly  wore, 
But  that  our  L,ord  permits  no  more  ; 
My  end  is  near  ;  the  load  I  bore 
I  try  to  lift,  but  vainly  try. 

To  all  I  've  loved  I  bid  farewell, 
And  pride — my  knightly  pride— I  quell ; 
God  wills  it :  I  will  not  rebel, — 
Oh  may  He  take  me  when  I  die  ! 

My  friends,  come  all — this  boon  I  crave — 
And  pay  due  honors  at  my  grave  ; 
For  near  and  far,  in  pleasures  brave, 

I  've  known  the  joys  for  which  men  sigh. 

F^arewell  to  joys  and  pleasures  brave. 
Luxurious  robes  I  now  put  by.'" 

The  truth  is  that  Duke  Guilhem,  hke  the  three  genera- 
tions of  his  descendants  whom  we  have  taken  for  docu- 
ments, erred  mainh'  from  an  excess  of  hot  blood  which 
came  to  him  as  a  part  of  his  inheritance. 

Thus  fairies  dowered  me  by  night 
Upon  a  mount,  —  '*" 


352 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


so  he  sang  once  to  excuse  his  undignified  pranks,  and  if 
we  omit  the  fairies  his  excuse  was  perfectly  sound.  The 
very  primordial  cells  of  his  body  had  a  fecundity  not 
given  to  ordinary  men.  To  vault  in  armor  clean  over  a 
horse  was  nothing  to  him,  I  am  sure.  To  hunt  for  days 
with  hardlv  a  mouthful  to  eat  was  a  diversion.     To  battle 


STE.    RADEQONDE,    POITIERS. 

from  morning  till  night  and  then  flee  or  pursue  from  night 
till  morning  filled  him  with  glee.  Until  the  years  were 
many  on  his  back  we  maj-  believe  he  never  knew  what  it 
was  to  be  tired  ;  and  the  call  of  sleep  was  only  a  soft, 
caressing  touch  of  pleasant  languor.  The  fountain  of 
youth  was  in  him,  bubbling  up  in  a  flood  of  animal  spirits 
that  was  forever  sweeping  away  the  promptings  of  a  keen 
judgment.  And — coming  round  now  to  our  special  point 
of  interest — this  fulness  of  life,  this  exuberance  of  animal 
impulses,  qualified  him  to  perform  for  literature  a  work  of 
remarkable  importance. 


Duke  Guilhem  353 

For  he  was  fitted  to  bridge  the  space  between  the  ple- 
beian and  the  aristocrat.  A  nobleman  in  rank,  he  was 
equall}-  a  commoner  in  spirit.  Descended  through  a  line 
of  princes  from  the  father  of  Charlemagne,  he  could  still 
feel  at  home  in  the  cottage  of  the  hind.  As  a  child  he 
saw  the  king  of  France  come  to  Poitiers,  more  as  a  sup- 
pliant than  as  a  suzerain,  to  ask  aid  against  William  the 
Conqueror,  and  half  a  centurj'  later  (1126),  in  the  last 
3'ear  but  one  of  his  life,  he  felt  strong  enough  himself  to 
wage  war  upon  the  king  ;  yet  we  see  him,  in  the  anecdote 
recorded  by  Etienne  de  Bourbon,  dressing  in  many  dis- 
guises, going  forth  to  try  various  conditions  of  life,  and 
finall}'  concluding  that  merchants  frequenting  the  fairs 
and  the  taverns  had  after  all  the  most  delightful  exist- 
ence.'" He  could  ride  at  the  head  of  a  hundred  thousand 
soldiers  or  trudge  alone  with  equal  satisfaction  ;  could 
pour  courtl}'  witcheries  into  the  ear  of  a  viscountess,  or 
play  the  amorous  vagabond  with  strolling  wives.  Indeed, 
it  was  his  boast  that  he  could  "  find  his  bread  in  any 
market ' ' ;  and  so  he  was  able  on  the  one  side  to  under- 
stand and  appreciate  the  popular  verse  of  his  day,  and  on 
the  other  to  give  it  high  social  standing  as  a  courtly 
accomplishment. 

Whether  Guilhem  achieved  much  more  than  this  ma}- 
be  questioned.  No  doubt  he  labored  earnestlj^  to  improve 
the  qualit}'  of  the  verse,  and  he  believed  that  he  .succeeded. 

I  wish  the  world  at  large  to  hear 

A  poem  toued  to  please  the  ear 

That  's  coming  from  my  workshop  here ; 

In  this  trade  surely  it  is  clear 

The  palm  is  mine  ; 
For  proof  the  piece  will  soon  appear 

In  binding  fine.''^ 

Indeed  with  .so  much  intelligence  and  painstaking  it 
would  seem  as  if  he  must  have  advanced  the  art  more  or 

VOL.  II.  —  23. 


354  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

less.  But  after  all  we  find  his  metres  few  and  simple,  his 
versification  far  indeed  from  masterly,  his  manner  rather 
crude  even  though  direct  and  fertile,  and  his  playfulness 
flippant  and  somewhat  raw.  Yet  for  planting  poetrj'  in 
the  courtlj'  world,  for  proving  that  careful  verse  was  worth 
making  and  worth  preserving,  and  for  setting  the  example 
of  patronizing  the  art — giving  in  these  waj's  a  powerful 
impulse  at  the  right  moment  and  in  just  the  needed  way 
— he  fully  merits  his  place  as  the  first  of  the  troubadours, 
and  ma}'  claim  high  honor  as  the  initiator  of  modern 
artistic  verse. 

This  answers  one  of  the  questions  that  met  us  at  the 
close  of  our  last  chapter,  but  not  the  other  ;  Guilhem 
opened  a  courth^  and  artistic  path  for  poetry,  but  he  could 
not  impose  upon  it  a  deferential  and  delicate  attitude  to- 
ward women.  For  one  reason  he  was  too  great  a  lord  ; 
just  as  we  find  him  almost  the  only  troubadour  not  mo- 
lested by  talebearers,  for  the  very  good  reason  that  no  one 
dared  cross  his  will,  so  it  is  likel}'  that  his  combination  of 
wealth,  rank,  charming  wit,  force  of  will,  and  personal 
attractiveness  made  a  study  of  subtle  blandishments  un- 
necessary. For  another  thing  he  was  lacking  in  refine- 
ment himself  Great  liver,  great  laugher,  great  singer, 
great  soldier,  and  great  prince,  he  was  greatest  of  all  as  a 
Don  Juan."'  It  was  because  the  adventure  on  the  road  in 
Auvergne  revealed  his  essential  nature,  that  I  began  with 
a  tale  apparently  so  unedifying.  His  poems  illustrate  the 
man  with  equal  clearness.  Accounts  of  his  gallantries  are 
given  with  all  the  details;  and,  along  with  perfectly  frank 
boasts  of  his  cleverness  at  everN'thing  he  cared  to  under- 
take, we  find  the  most  naive  proofs  that  for  him  love  was 
only  an  offhand  amusement  and  a  physical  pleasure. 

Of  course  he  studied  to  please  the  fair  sex  ;  Dante  held 
that  poetry  was  first  made  in  the  vernacular  for  the  sake 
of  a  lady  who  could  not  understand  Latin,  and  this  may 


Duke  Guilheni  355 

well  have  been  the  duke's  chief  motive  in  practising  the 
art.  Diplomacy  as  well  as  force  he  knew  how  to  emplo}', 
and  he  laid  down  the  rule  verj-  distinctly  : 


Full  many  a  fair  must  he  obey 
Whoe'er  the  lover's  part  would  play  ; 
For  he  must  please  them  every  way,— 

Whate'er  befall, 
And  ne'er  a  word  that  's  boorish  saj- 

In  chamber  or  hall.-"^ 


But  in  his  poetry  the  woman,  no  matter  how  much  ad- 
mired or  how  much  longed  for,  always  appears  as  an  in- 
ferior, while  it  became  a  mark  of  the  troubadour  songs  to 
represent  her  as  the  stiperior  ;  and  even  when  he  sang  his 
prettiest  he  was  condescending  and  cavalier. 

Now  to  singing  I  '11  apply  me 

Ere  new  storms  and  frosts  defy  me  ; 

For  my  lady  loves  to  try  me, 

Proving  if  I  hold  her  dear  ; 
But,  no  matter  how  she  ply  me, 

I  never  shall  get  free,  I  fear. 

So  I  make  a  full  surrender — 
In  her  list  one  more  pretender  ; 
Call  me  not  insanely  tender 

That  my  lady  is  so  dear. 
For  't  is  she  alone  can  render 

Existence  bright  instead  of  drear. 


'&^ 


Ivory  's  dark  if  she  but  wear  it : 
Hers  my  heart  with  none  to  share  it ; 
And — by  Gregory's  head  I  swear  it — 

If  she  will  not  hold  me  dear, 
And  in  chamber  or  grove  declare  it — 

With  kisses,  too — my  end  is  near. 


356  The  Trouljaclours  at  Home 

What  will  you  have  gaineil  from  seeing 

Hopeless  love  to  exile  fleeing  ? 

Nun,  it  seems,  you  're  bent  on  being  ; 

Pain  will  end  me,  you  're  so  dear, 
If  you  cure  me  not,  agreeing 

That  all  my  wrongs  shall  gain  your  ear. 

Monk  you  '11  make  nie — always  003^  ; 
Why  would  you  your  own  destroy  ? 
All  the  world  is  ours  to  enjoy 

If  we  two  but  love,  my  dear  ; 
As  the  minstrel  I  employ 

Will  sing  the  air  I  wish  to  hear. 

Her  I  serve  with  fear  and  trembling, 

For  I  'm  sure — she  is  so  dear — 
Naught  in  Adam's  line  resembling 

Her  loveliness  will  e'er  appear.'--^ 

No  ;  for  the  final  step  in  the  evohition  of  troubadour 
poetr}^  we  must  leave  Poitiers  and  go  back  to  Ventadorn. 

Bernart's  inferiority  of  rank  to  Margarida  and  still  more 
to  Eleanor,  his  position  as  a  literal  dependant  in  their 
hotiseholds,  and  the  certaintj^  that  a  discourteous  or  even 
an  indelicate  expression  would  wreck  his  wooing — supple- 
mented, of  course,  by  his  poetic  taste — established  a  fashion 
which  other  court-poets  followed, — which  in  fact  they 
were  constrained  to  follow,  since  nearly  all  were  more  or 
less  completely  in  the  same  position.  They  were  members 
of  their  lord's  household  ;  his  wife  was  their  lad}',  their 
queen  ;  and  if  they  dared  put  real  feeling  into  the  songs 
which  celebrated  her  loveliness,  it  cotild  only  be  in  expres- 
sions the  most  respectful  and  the  most  refined.  In  this 
way  the  style  was  fixed  even  for  poets  who  were  not  de- 
pendent; and  so,  re-enforced  by  the  self-devoting  spirit  of 
chivalry,  b}^  the  general  disposition  toward  finer  manners 
which  manifested  itself  abotit  the  middle  of  the  twelfth 


Second  Birthplace  of  Proven9al  Poetry    357 

century,  by  the  lurking  reverence  of  the  Celtic  race  for 
woman,"  by  the  veneration  felt  for  Mary  Magdalen,  and 
by  the  growing  worship  of  the  Virgin,  the  conceptions 
which  Bernart  de  Ventadorn — with  the  foresight  of  genius 
— first  moulded  into  verse,  came  to  dominate  Provengal 
poetry."* 

Rousseau  held  that  lov-e  was  a  second  birth;  and  in  like 
manner  we  may  call  Poitiers  the  first  and  Ventadorn  the 
second  birthplace  of  troubadour  song.  But  Eble  the 
Singer,  who  begat  the  art  if  not  the  life  of  his  famous 
pupil,  was  a  vassal  and  follower  of  Guilhem  ;  and  so  our 
duke,  the  grandfather-in-poetry  of  Bernart  de  Ventadorn, 
was  the  father  of  troubadour  song  in  a  double  sense."' 


XLIII 

POITIERS   AND  TOLEDO 

Guiraut  Riquier.     The  Decline  of  Provencal  Poetry  and  its 

Influence 

THE  origins  of  Provencal  poetry  lead  us  to  think  of  its 
development,  its  decline,  and  its  influence. 

The  stages  of  development  and  of  decline  may  be  said 
with  reasonable  accuracy  to  occupy  each  a  century,  though 
it  must  be  remembered  that  birth  and  death  always  begin 
together.  These  two  centuries  may  be  divided  into  five 
periods.  Again  we  must  bear  in  mind,  indeed,  that 
nature's  logic  is  broader  than  ours,  and  our  divisions  of 
her  work  are  sure  to  be  imperfect  :  there  is  no  rigid  line 
of  demarcation.  But  the  divisions  a.ssist  both  understand- 
ing and  memory  ;  and,  as  the  facts  have  already  been 
studied  in  detail  without  regard  to  an}'  system,  we  may 
now  venture  to  arrange  them. 

I  will  propose,  then,  to  make  five  periods  :  first.  Dawn, 
from  the  first  crusade  (1096)  to  the  second  (1147)  ;  next. 
Morning,  to  the  third  crusade  (1190)  ;  then.  Midday,  to 
the  opening  of  the  Albigensian  wars  (1209)  ;  fourthly, 
Afternoon,  to  the  accession  of  French  princes  in  Provence 
(1246)  and  in  Languedoc  (1249)  ;  and  finally.  Evening,  to 
the  last  poem  of  Guiraut  Riquier  (1294). 

In  the  Dawn  we  find  Guilhem  the  Duke,  Rudel,  and 
Marcabru, — for  only  the  chief  names  can  be  mentioned 
here.  In  the  Morning,  strong  and  vigorous,  dewy  to  the 
end  in  spots  though  in  spots  already  .scorching,  but  every- 

358 


Development  of  Proven9al  Poetry        359 

where  pointing  forward  and  not  back,  we  meet  Bernart  de 
Ventadorn,  Peire  d'Alvernhe,  Raimbaut  d'Aurenga, 
Arnaut  de  Maruelh,  Peire  Rogier,  and  Bertran  de  Born. 
Unring  the  brief  Midday,  when  the  cult  of  poetry  was 
warmest,  but  a  consciousness  of  having  reached  the  goal 
and  even  of  having  passed  it,  both  in  ideas  and  in  style, 
began  to  be  felt,  we  have  Raimbaut  de  Vaqueiras,  Peire 
Vidal,  Arnaut  Daniel.  Gaucelm  P'aidit,  and  Guiraut  de 
Borneil.  Here  belongs  Folquet  also,  though  his  earh- 
conversion  left  most  of  his  work  in  the  previous  period. 
Afternoon  then  crept  on.  The  tendency  to  reflection  and 
artificiality  grew  more  and  more  pronounced,  and  poetry 
had  its  chief  representatives  in  Peire  Cardinal,  Aimeric  de 
Peguilha,  and  Sordel.  Lengthening  shadows  then  brought 
on  the  last  period,  and  here  we  find  the  art  in  manifest 
decadence. 

With  decadence  went  neglect.  Those  who  .still  sang 
were  poorly  recompensed  and  felt  oppressed  with  a  sense 
of  isolation  and  abandonment  ;  and  we  see,  for  example, 
that  Francesco  da  Barberino,  though  he  remained  quite  a 
while  in  Marseille  about  the  year  1300  and  was  deeply  in- 
terested in  Provencal  poetry,  makes  no  mention  of  Car- 
bonel,  a  poet  of  Marseille,  nor  of  any  other  troubadour  of 
the  day.  For  him  and  for  the  world  at  large  the  trouba- 
dour age  was  already  far  in  the  past.  So  it  was  in  fact, 
and  in  this  period  of  half  a  century  Guiraut  Riquier  is  the 
only  poet  at  all  worth  our  while  :  with  him,  by  general 
consent,  the  canon  of  the  troubadours  is  closed. 

Riquier  was  peculiarly  fitted  for  the  position  he  occupied. 
In  the  first  place  his  poetic  life  of  forty  3- ears  (1254-1294) 
covered  almost  the  entire  period  of  Evening,  and  enabled 
him  to  sum  up  the  state  of  poetry  in  his  life  and  writings. 
In  the  second  place,  he  was  completel}^  absorbed  in  his 
vocation,  took  pride  in  being  called  a  poet,  and  was  most 
.sincerely  anxious  to  enhance  the  honor  of  his  art.     Finally, 


J 


60  The  Troubadours  at  Home 


the  meagreness  of  his  personal  history  sets  him  before  us 
appropriately  as  a  figure  rather  than  a  person  ;  for  while 
we  have  more  than  a  hundred  of  his  poems  we  can  sa}-  of 
himself,  aside  from  unimportant  details,  only  that  he  was 
born  in  Narbonne  and  counted  two  of  the  lords  of  Nar- 
bonne  among  his  patrons,'  that  he  sojourned  with  the 
count  of  Rodez  and  the  king  of  Castile,  and  that  he  wooed 
without  success  a  lad}-  whom  he  called  "  Fair  Delight  " 
{^Belh  Deport).  In  his  early  years  at  least  he  suffered 
want,  and  though  he  could  beg  unflinchingly  for  patron- 
age, he  felt  the  indignit}^  of  it,  and  has  recorded  feelingly 
the  dread  and  shame  with  which  he  entered  the  presence 
of  a  noble  "  to  ask  him  for  something  that  was  his." 

But  Riquier  was  not  a  Dante,  even  though  like  Dante 
he  little  relished  the  bread  of  others.  He  was  not  even  a 
Borneil  mourning  grandly  over  the  decadence  of  the  age, 
nor  a  Cardinal  indignantly  denouncing  its  crimes.  Such 
magnificence  was  past.  Poetry  could  no  longer  assume 
the  tone  of  authority  or  the  air  of  scorn  ;  and  Riquier — a 
frivolous-earnest  kind  of  a  man,  light-hearted  yet  thought- 
ful, witty  but  good-natured,  educated  but  not  profound, 
clever  though  not  great,  impulsive  though  not  passion- 
ate— Riquier  was  deeply  pained  to  see  his  beloved  art  neg- 
lected, yet  went  about  receiving  cheerfully  such  scraps  of 
patronage,  fame,  and  pleasure  as  it  was  possible  to  obtain. 

His  poems  reveal  clearly  the  poetic  leanness  of  the 
time,  for  there  is  a  total  want  of  the  overflowing  life  and 
energy  that  we  found  in  the  classic  troubadours.  To  be 
sure  this  may  be  called  his  personal  defect,  but  when  the 
chief  poet  of  the  time  is  feeble  we  may  certainly  conclude 
that  poetr\'  does  not  command  enough  respect  and  ad- 
miration to  attract  men  of  power.  Take  a  single  illustra- 
tion. If  anything  could  inspire  the  troubadour  it  would 
be  the  assurance  that  at  last  his  lady  is  won,  and  that  she 
will  be  awaiting  him  when  the  stars  appear  ;  but  Riquier's 


Guiraut  Riquier  361 

Evening-Song,  the  only  Serena  that  we  have,  is  plaintive 
instead  of  jubilant. 

Ouce  a  lady  gave  her  friend 

What  he  craved,  a  rendezvous, 
Where  and  when  his  quest  should  end  ; 
All  that  day  he  could  not  do 
Aught  but  go  about  complaining, 
And  he  said  with  many  a  sigh, 
"  Day,  your  waxing  makes  me  die. 
And  night 
Waits  and  murders  my  delight." 

None  could  fail  to  comprehend 

How  he  grieved  ;  the  whole  day  through 
His  condition  did  not  mend, 
And  the  tears  oft  started,  too. 

For  the  hours  were  sad  past  feigning  ; 
And  he  said  with  many  a  sigh, 
"  Day,  your  waxing  makes  me  die. 
And  night 
Waits  and  murders  my  delight."  - 

Riquier's  most  interesting  love-songs  were  a  series  of  six 
pastorals,'  and  here  we  find  the  same  autumnal  quality. 
"  The  other  day,"  he  tells  us,  "  I  was  loitering  by  the 
side  of  a  brook,  for  so  Love  led  me  on  that  I  might  be- 
think me  of  song  ;  and  there  I  caught  sight  of  a  gay,  fair, 
and  pleasant  shepherdess  keeping  her  flock.  I  wended 
that  way.  She  was  of  seemly  behavior  and  showed  me  a 
friendly  temper  at  the  first  question.  For  I  asked  her  : 
'  Maiden,  have  you  ever  loved,  and  do  you  know  how  to 
love  ? ' 

"  Without  gainsaying  she  replied  :  '  Certainly,  sir  ;  I 
am  already  betrothed.' 

"  '  Maiden,  I  am  greatly  pleased  that  we  have  met, — 
provided  I  can  make  myself  agreeable  to  yoti.' 

'  No  doubt  yoti  've  long  been  looking  for  me  !     Were 
I  silly  I  might  think  so.' 


1 1   I 


362  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

"  '  Maiden,  don't  3'ou  believe  it  ? ' 

"  '  Not  in  the  least,  sir.' 

"■  '  My  bonnie  maiden,  if  you  will  have  my  love,  I  would 
have  yours. ' 

"  '  It  cannot  be,  sir  ;  you  have  a  sweetheart  and  I  have 
a  lover.' 

"  '  However  that  may  be,  maiden,  I  love  you  and  would 
taste  your  love. ' 

"  '  Sir,  take  another  road  that  will  bring  you  more  luck.' 

"  '  I  wish  no  better  road.' 

You  are  acting  foolishly,  sir.' 

It  is  not  folly,  lady-maiden  ;  you  are  so  attractive 
that  lyove  gives  me  leave.' 

"  '  Sir,  I  wish  this  parley  were  over.' 

"  '  By  my  love,  maiden,  you  are  too  harsh,  for  I  beseech 
humbly.' 

"  '  I  don't  forget  myself,  sir  :  I  should  be  disgraced  if  I 
gave  my  confidence  so  lightly.' 

"  '  Maiden,  m^-  feelings  overpower  me.' 

Sir,  you  will  win  no  credit  in  such  a  fashion.' 
Whatever  I  say,  maiden,  fear  not  that  I  would  wrong 
you.' 

' '  '  Sir,  I  am  your  friend  if  3' ou  remember  to  keep  within 
bounds.' 

"  '  Maiden,  whenever  I  am  on  the  point  of  tripping 
I  will  hold  myself  in  check  by  thinking  of  "  Fair  De- 
light." ' 

"  '  Sir,  I  am  thankful  for  your  consideration,  for  j'ou 
know  how  to  be  winning.' 

"  '  What  's  that  I  hear  you  sa}-,  maiden  ?  ' 

"  '  That  I  like  you,  sir.' 

"  '  Tell  me  now,  blithe  maiden,  what  has  made  j'ou 
say  so  pleasant  a  word  ? ' 

"  '  Sir,  wherever  I  go  they  are  singing  the  sweet  songs 
of  Guiraut  Riquier.' 


i  1  ( 


A  Troubadour's  Love-Making  363 

"  '  Maiden,  let  us  not  forget  that  word  which  I  was 
asking  for.' 

"  '  Sir,  have  3'ou  no  favors  from  "  Fair  Delight," — she 
w^ho  keeps  you  from  improper  gallantries  ?  ' 

"  '  She  will  not  be  kind,  maiden.' 

"  '  Sir,  she  does  right.'  ' 

"  '  Maiden,  she  would  be  the  death  of  me,  did  not 
faithful  Bertran  d'Opian  give  me  comfort.' 

"  '  Sir,  she  guards  you  ill.  And  now  you  will  be  going 
on  your  way, — it  makes  me  sad  to  think  of  it! ' 

"  '  Maiden,  I  will  come  this  way  time  and  again.'  " 

So  the  love-making  begins,  but  the  end  is  twenty-two 
years  in  arriving.  Six  times  during  this  rather  protracted 
wooing  the  poet  meets  his  comely  shepherdess.  Once, 
pretending  not  to  know  him,  she  declares  that  if  he  were 
Guiraut  Riquier  she  is  afraid  he  would  carry  the  day  ; 
but  when  the  troubadour  seeks  to  press  this  advantage  he 
is  fended  off  as  before.  Meanwhile  the  maiden  becomes 
a  wife,  a  mother,  a  widow,  and  the  hostess  of  an  inn  ;  and 
at  the  end  Riquier,  hardly  knowing  whether  to  woo  the 
mother  or  the  now  grown-up  daughter,  woos  them  both 
together.  It  seems  like  a  dream,  and  apparently  the 
same  flickering  passion  might  have  continued  on  with 
equal  ardor  to  the  daughter's  daughter. 

The  grand  aim  of  Riquier's  life  was  to  maintain  the 
feeble  hold  of  poetrj-  upon  the  world,  and  if  possible 
to  strengthen  it  ;  and  his  devices  were  not  wanting  in 
fertility  and  ingenuit)'. 

For  one  expedient  he  practised  every  style  of  composi- 
tion in  the  hope  of  discovering  somewhere  the  magical 
word  of  power.  lyOve-songs,  pastorals,  sirventes,  ten- 
sos,  morning-songs  and  evening-songs,  epistles,  didactic 
poems,  and  even  poems  expounding  the  cla.ssic  trouba- 
dours, ^ — ^all  these  and  more  were  tried,  and  for  specimens 
of  four  poetic  forms  we  are  wholly  indebted  to  him.* 


364  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

The  vigor  of  popular  poetry  impressed  him  ;  and — what 
is  very  curious — we  now  find  the  aristocratic  family  of 
troubadours  endeavoring  to  renew  its  energy  by  marriages 
with  its  plebeian  branch,  disdained  for  five  generations. 
The  morning-  and  evening-songs  and  the  round,  for  ex- 
ample, were  popular  forms  practised  by  Riquier.  So,  too, 
was  the  pastoral,  which  perhaps  he  borrowed  back  from 
the  poets  of  northern  France  ;  for  considerable  discussion 
makes  it  pretty  clear  that  the  pastoral,  after  springing  very 
early  from  the  soil  of  the  Midi  and  recording  itself  in  the 
poetry  of  Marcabru  and  other  early  troubadours,  was  for- 
gotten in  the  south,  and  at  this  late  stage  reappeared  there 
as  a  traveller  from  the  north.  Still  another  alliance  with 
popular  verse  was  Riquier's  use  of  the  refrain,  a  device 
that  he  employed  with  no  little  skill  sometimes. 

Since  my  lady  doth  ordain 

That  my  hope  shall  prove  fallacious, 
Nor  consents  to  grace  my  pain. 

Holding  me  with  charms  mendacious. 
In  the  art  of  love  I  'd  fain 

Learn  to  be  far  more  sagacious. 
And  this  knowledge  I  can  gain 

Down  in  Spain,  in  Spain  the  gracious  : 
All  the  men  are  noble  there, 
All  the  women  sweet  and  fair. 


Honor,  joy,  and  gallantry. 

Courtliness  and  reputation. 
Merit  and  sagacity. 

Company  and  conversation. 
Love  and  liberality, 

Judgment,  knowledge,  education, — 
These  have  made,  as  all  agree, 

Spain,  gay  Spain,  their  habitation  : 
All  the  men  are  noble  there, 
All  the  women  sweet  and  fair." 


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THE  ORIGINAL  MUSIC  OF  "SINCE    MY    LADY   DOTH  ORDAIN' 
IN   MODERN    NOTATION. 


365 


Attempts  to  Rejuvenate  Poetry  367 

Not  satisfied  with  invoking  the  aid  of  popular  verse, 
Riquier  appealed  also  in  the  opposite  quarter, — to  regions 
essentially  unpoetic.  His  didactic  poems  have  already 
been  mentioned,  and  his  theory  was  not  behind  his 
practice.  In  his  view  poetr}^  should  be  not  merely  in- 
structive but  learned.  It  should  become  the  vehicle  of 
moral  and  philosophical  wisdom,  and  the  poet  should  not 
only  be  a  man  of  erudition  but  actually  bear  a  profe.s- 
sorial  title.  In  little  things  as  well  as  in  great  ones 
Riquier  displayed  this  academic  and  pedantic  spirit,  this 
ambition  to  find  a  basis  more  dignified  than  mere  poetry. 
As  a  rule  his  pieces  were  seriously  labelled  with  his  name 
and  the  date,  and  one  of  them  bears  this  heading  :  "  Song 
in  the  form  of  round,  concatenated  both  as  to  words 
and  nuisic,  by  Sir  Guiraut  Riquier,  made  the  year 
MCCLXXXII.  in  April.  And  the  music  of  the  second 
stanza  begins  in  the  middle  of  the  first  and  goes  on  to  the 
end,  then  returns  to  the  beginning  of  the  first  [stanza]  and 
concludes  in  the  middle  of  the  first  [stanza]  as  is  indicated. 
The  whole  song,  then,  is  sung  thus  :  the  first,  the  third, 
and  the  fifth  [stanzas]  in  one  way  ;  and  the  second,  the 
fourth,  and  the  sixth  in  another  way.  And  this  song  is 
the  XXallla."  Imagine  Bernart  de  Ventadorn  concoct- 
ing so  dry  and  useful  a  heading  for  a  song  of  his  ! 

But  Riquier  was  not  yet  satisfied  that  his  beloved  art 
would  enjo}'  the  esteem  it  merited,  and  he  proceeded  to 
invoke  the  aid  of  positive  authority.  Amfos  X.,  the  king 
of  Castile,  who  entertained  him  cordially  at  picturesque 
Toledo,  was  the  foremo.st  patron  of  letters  at  that  time. 
In  history  he  cuts  but  a  sorry  figure.  Powerless  to  con- 
trol the  subject  princes  of  Spain,  powerless  over  his  own 
nobles  or  even  his  own  children,  he  brought  the  great  in- 
heritance left  him  by  his  father  to  a  miserable  condition 
of  distress  and  ignominy.  Yet  his  failure  as  a  monarch 
was  the  result  not  of  ignorance  or  of  vices  but  merel}-  of 


368  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

unfitness  for  connnand,  and  in  the  history  of  science  and 
poetry  we  see  him  in  a  ver}-  different  light.  He  was  at 
once  a  savant  and  a  poet.  He  established  the  first 
astronomical  observator}'  in  Europe.  His  scientific  fame 
is  recorded  still  by  our  English  dictionaries  in  the  term 
"  Alphonsine  Tables."  '  His  verses,  composed  in  the 
Portuguese  dialect,  entitled  him  to  rank  as  one  of  the  best 
lyric  poets  of  the  day.  And  his  wisdom  was  extolled  even 
more  than  his  learning  and  his  poetry.  ' '  If  God  had  con- 
sulted me  when  He  made  the  world,  I  could  have  given 
Him  vSome  good  advice,"  he  once  felt  authorized  to  say  ; 
and  his  title  "  The  Wise,"  given  by  general  consent,  at- 
tests at  once  his  attainments,  his  reputation,  and  perhaps 
his  vanity." 

If  any  authority  would  undertake  to  assign  the  poets 
their  proper  standing  in  the  world  it  would  be  such  a 
king,  and  to  him  Riquier  appealed  in  a  long  poem  (1275). 
The  world,  he  said,  had  confounded  troubadours  with  jog- 
lars,  real  artists  with  bunglers,  and  as  a  consequence  all 
were  despised  ;  and  he  called  upon  the  king  to  classify 
the  makers  of  verse,  give  each  class  a  particular  name, 
and  reserve  for  the  highest  alone  the  name  Troubadour 
and  the  title  Doctor.' 

We  smile  at  the  poet's  amiable  delusion  that  poetry 
could  be  rejuvenated  b}-  decree,  but  we  find  it  pathetic, 
too.  What  could  be  more  pathetic, — a  literature  mori- 
bund and  struggling  like  a  sick  man  to  keep  itself  alive  ? 
Ignorant  fellows  drag  its  white  locks  forth  to  ribald  merr}^- 
makings,  until,  as  we  learn  from  Riquier,  the  preachers 
denounce  it  from  their  pulpits.  In  Riquier  himself  it 
grows  old  gracefully,  but — it  grows  old.  It  is  no  longer 
Strength  singing  to  vent  its  joy,  but  Weakness  singing 
to  extract  joy  from  the  song.  Instead  of  bearing  his 
muse  exultingly  aloft  as  a  satyr  would  a  nymph,  the  poet 
seeks  a  quiet  vale  where  he  can  recline  upon  her  bosom. 


o 
o 

HI 


A  Princel)'  Line  of  Poets  371 

In  a  word,  Provengal  song  has  passed  from  Gnilhem,  Duke 
of  Aqiiitaine,  to  Guirant  Riquier,  Doctor  of  Poetr}-,  and 
the  line  of  troubadours  is  ended.'" 

What  a  princely  line  it  was  ! 

In  all  we  have  work  from  some  four  hundred  and  twelve, 
besides  the  names  of  about  seventy  more,  and  the  thir- 
teenth century  has  bequeathed  us  biographies — or  rather 
biographical  notes — on  one  hundred  and  four.  Some  of 
this  number  were  of  lowly  birth,  ennobled  by  their  talent  ; 
but  most  of  them  inherited  rank.  Among  them  we  count 
eight  of  the  laboring  class,  five  scribes  or  notaries,  sixteen 
of  good  burgher  stock,  five  who  came  of  gentle  families, 
twenty-nine  brave  knights,  nine  rich  lord.s,  six  great 
barons,  five  viscounts,  five  marquises,  ten  powerful  counts, 
two  princes,  and  five  kings.  What  other  literature  can 
show  such  an  aristocracy  of  poets  ?  " 

But  the  princely  line  ended,  and  we  are  met  by  two 
questions,  which  have  not  always  been  kept  distinct  : 
Why  did  the  troubadours  cease  to  be,  and  why  did  Pro- 
vencal literature  come  to  an  end  ? 

The  chief  reason  why  the  troubadours  became  extinct 
is  a  very  simple  one  :  they  were  a  part  of  the  aristocratic 
regime  of  the  Midi ;  and  the  Albigensian  wars  and  spolia- 
tions which  ruined  their  patrons  cut  the  ground  from 
under  their  feet.  It  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  even 
without  such  a  catacly.sm  they  would  have  passed  away 
almost  as  soon  as  they  did,  for  they  were  an  outgrowth  of 
the  chivalric  spirit,  and  as  that  could  not  fail  to  grow 
cold  like  all  enthusiasms  their  poetry  was  fated  to  wither. 
Again,  they  were  a  fashion,  and  in  time  the  nobles  would 
have  concluded  to  lay  the  fashion  aside  for  a  new  one. 
At  all  events  the  natural  evolution  of  society  would  have 
extinguished  them  in  time.  But  this  was  not  actually 
the  history.     The  joyous,  elegant  life  of  the  Midi  was  no 


3/2  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

more  ;  and  its  nobles,  impoverished  by  war,  exhausted  by- 
extravagance,  shorn  by  the  development  of  the  towns, 
crushed  b}^  the  taxes  of  foreign  masters,  and  even  forbid- 
den by  the  Church  to  live  eleganth',  were  not  able,  even 
if  they  found  the  heart,  to  support  the  poets  as  their  fathers 
had  done.  Only  the  cheaper — that  is  to  say  the  inferior — 
poets  were  entertained,  and  the  result  could  only  be  to 
bring  the  art  into  that  disrepute  which  grieved  poor 
Riquier  so  deeply. 

At  Narbonne,  Foix,  and  Rodez,  indeed,  the  cult  was 
maintained  for  a  long  time,  but  even  these  courts  were  not 
rich  enough  to  preserve  its  olden  glories.  The  royal  palaces 
of  Castile  and  Aragon,  and  Este — the  home  of  Peguilha — 
in  Italy  were  stronger  bulwarks.  There  Provengal  poetry 
was  able  to  hold  its  own  among  related  but  differing  lan- 
guages, as  Paul  Mej^er  has  remarked,  by  a  constant  influx 
of  poets  from  the  parent  stock — from  the  Midi,  and  even 
achieved  the  almost  unparalleled  success  of  imposing  itself 
upon  the  poets  of  these  foreign  lands.  But  when  the  last 
generation  of  troubadours  from  the  Midi  passed  away, 
local  idioms  reasserted  themselves,  the  poets  discovered 
that  verse  could  be  made  in  their  own  languages,  too,  and 
the  Provencal  became  only  a  classic  tradition.  In  this 
waj^  the  last  period  of  the  troubadours  came  to  an  end  : 
Afternoon  and  Evening  passed  on  into  Night.'"' 

But  even  if  there  were  no  longer  to  be  troubadours  why 
did  Provencal  literature  perish  ?  It  has  been  replied  that 
its  art  and  its  ideas  had  been  exhausted.  No  doubt  the 
circle  of  the  love-songs  was  narrow,  and  their  wonderful 
technique  degenerated  into  mannerism  and  artificiality; 
but  there  were  other  poetic  forms.  The  sirvente  offered  a 
boundless  field.  Tales  were  popular,  and  opened  the 
way  to  romances  and  novels.  The  vivacity  of  the  Midi 
was  naturally  disposed  to  dramatic  writing"  also;  dia- 
logue appeared  frequently  in  the  songs,  the  tenso  was  a 


The  Death  of  Provengal  Literature       ^"^ 


J/O 


favorite  style,  and  we  actually  possess  twenty-two  lines 
of  thirteenth-century  drama  saved  by  the  strangest  of 
chances.  A  vast  body  of  Provencal  writing  has  been 
completely  lost,  but  it  is  thus  clear  from  what  we  pos- 
sess that  it  had  ample  room  to  develop  and  was  already 
broadening. 

No  ;  the  death  of  this  literature  was  due  to  a  cause  out- 
side itself.  In  a  word,  the  Midi  took  on  the  French 
civilization  and  thenceforth  developed  France-ward.  At 
the  end  of  our  fourth  period  both  Languedoc  and  Provence 
passed,  as  we  saw,  into  the  hands  of  French  princes.  The 
people  of  the  south  resisted,  recording  their  struggle  in 
the  poetic  league  of  Toulouse  and  no  doubt  in  similar 
efforts  that  have  been  forgotten  ;  but  all  resistance  was  in 
vain.  As  Mistral  has  sung  of  the  absorption  of  the  Midi, 
"  The  stream  must  fall  into  the  sea."  The  subjection  of 
the  south  was  necessary  to  make  the  France  of  modern 
history,  and  the  extinction  of  Provencal  literature  was  in- 
volved in  the  development  of  the  French."  That  was  the 
law  of  nature. 

But  nature  has  other  laws,  and  they  have  awarded  this 
fatally  sacrificed  idiom  its  due  revenge, — glory  and  in- 
fluence. 

Never,  since  the  classical  days,  had  so  earnest  an  effort 
been  made  to  produce  poetry  of  high  technical  merit,  nor 
had  so  perfect  an  accord  been  reached  between  substance 
and  form.  Never,  since  remote  antiquity,  had  an  artistic 
literature  been  evolved  from  purely  native  elements. 
Never  at  any  time  had  the  craftsmanship  of  lyrical  com- 
position been  developed  with  such  variety,  richness,  and 
beauty,  nor  the  arts  of  music  and  verse  been  wedded  in  a 
bond  so  close  and  harmonious.  No  other  people  of  the 
age  had  contrived  so  elegant  a  way  to  raise  themselves 
from  semi-barbarism  to  refinement  of  feeling  and  culture 
of  intellect ;  and  never  in  any  age  had  love  been  expressed 


374  The   Troubadours  at  Home 

with  reserve  so  delicate  and  respect  so  full  of  devotion. 
To  accomplish  all  this,  to  open  anew  before  the  human 
mind  the  paths  of  intellect  and  then  to  dominate  the  forms 
of  its  thought  for  generations  was  assuredl}^  a  glorious 
achievement. 

The  influence  of  Provencal  poetry  has  been  equal  to  its 
glory. '^  "  All  the  lyric  poetry  of  Europe,"  to  quote 
Gorra,  "  was  penetrated,  pervaded,  transformed  under 
the  action  of  the  poetry-  that  radiated  from  Provence." 
The  literature  of  Spain  w^as  a  direct  outgrowth.  Portugal, 
remote  and  politicall}'  unsettled,  was  very  little  visited  by 
the  troubadours,  but  it  met  them  at  foreign  courts,  espe- 
cially in  Castile  and  Leon  ;  and  not  only  was  its  literature 
stimulated  b}^  that  of  Provence,  but  two  thirds  of  the  pro- 
duct shows  a  more  or  less  conscious  imitation  of  it.'" 

In  Italy  Provencal  poetry  penetrated  the  court  of  the 
Emperor  Frederic  II.  from  all  sides,  or,  in  Torraca's 
words,  "  as  water  penetrates  a. sponge."  Frederic's  wife, 
Constance,  was  that  very  daughter  of  the  troubadour-king 
of  Aragon,  Amfos  II.,  who  made  a  home  for  Peire  Vidal 
in  Hungar}'  when  she  occupied  the  throne  there  with 
Aimeric,  her  first  husband.  Frederic's  court  at  Palermo 
was  full  of  poets  composing  in  the  Provencal  manner, ^ — ■ 
some  of  them  Sicilian  and  Apulian,  some  from  Bologna  " 
and  the  north  apparently,  and  some  of  them,  according  to 
Gaston  Paris,  from  his  German  realms, — and  the  emperor 
himself  made  verses,  too.'*  All  the  first  lyric  poetr}^  of 
Ital}'  leaned  upon  Provence. 

The  dominant  influence  of  the  troubadours  in  the  north 
of  France  is  now  recognized  by  all  the  authorities.  There 
was,  no  doubt,  a  vigorous  native  poetr}- — as  we  feel  sure 
there  was  in  Spain  and  Italy,  though  it  has  entirely  dis- 
appeared— but  this  native  poetry  was  not  adopted  by  the 
cultured  classes  as  that  of  the  Midi  was.  In  fact  it  was 
not  fitted  to  play  a  role  in  courtly  and  cultured  life  and 


Their  (ilor)-  and  Inllucnce  375 

control  the  formation  of  a  polished  literature,  for  it  was 
epic  instead  of  lyric,  rough  and  martial  instead  ofcourtl\-, 
and  in  every  way  akin  to  the  stern  spirit  of  the  north. 
Whether  Eleanor,  the  granddaughter  of  Duke  Guilhem, 
was  the  queen  of  France  long  enough  to  transplant  the 
poetry  of  the  south,  we  cannot  be  sure  ;  but  at  least  she 
introduced  at  Paris  its  language  and  its  courtly  ideas. 
Her  two  daughters  reigned  in  Champagne  and  Blois, " 
and  her  successor  on  the  throne  was  a  .sister  of  their  hus- 
bands. Three  centres  of  Provencal  poetr}'  were  thus 
established  in  the  north,  and  no  doubt  the  poets  and  min- 
strels journeyed  constantly  back  and  forth.  The  models 
of  artistic  literature  came  in  these  ways  from  the  trouba- 
dours,'" and  some  of  the  trouveres  did  not  .scorn  to  sing 
literal  translations  of  Provencal  poems. 

The  poetr}-  of  the  minnesingers  appears  to  have  origi- 
nated spontaneously  in  ea.stern  Germany,  and  a  native 
German  love-song  in  rhyme  is  imbedded  in  a  Latin  com- 
position of  1170  ;  but  in  the  west  this  indigenous  poetry 
soon  came  in  contact  with  troubadour  art  in  Provencal 
and  still  more  in  French  verse  ;  and,  says  Kuno  Francke, 
"  it  is  only  under  the  indisputable  influence  of  Provengal, 
troubadour  song  that  love  becomes  the  crown  and  glor^- 
of  a  rich  and  full-sounding  h-rical  verse."  "' 

The  debt  of  English  poetry  is  far  less,  yet  real.  During 
all  but  the  first  of  our  five  periods  a  large  part  of  trouba- 
dour-land was  English  territory- ;  Richard,  a  friend  of  the 
troubadours  and  perhaps  a  troubadour  him.self,  was  an 
English  king,  and  Eleanor  an  English  queen  ;  for  gen- 
erations troubadours  were  seen  in  the  English  court  ; 
Bernart  de  Ventadorn  and  others  appear  to  have  sung 
upon  English  soil,  and  it  is  easy  to  fancy,  at  the  least, 
that  some  seeds  lodged  in  the  crannies  ot  English  life  and 
thought.  Of  indirect  influence  there  can  be  no  doubt. 
Italian  literature  long  permeated  ours  '^'^  and  especiall)-  at 


376  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

two  periods  :  one  was  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  when  at  least 
one  hundred  and  eleven  translations  were  made  from  the 
Italian  into  English,  and  the  other  was  almost  in  the  trou- 
badour age.  In  both  periods  troubadour  influences  crossed 
the  Channel, — and  particularly  in  the  earlier,  for  Chaucer's 
well  drew  from  the  Arno,  and  the  Arno  rose  in  Provence. 
Another  line  of  inheritance  gave  us  even  more  :  French 
was  for  centuries  the  upper-class  language  of  England, 
and  it  was  a  French  leavened  with  troubadour  poetry. 

So  much  for  the  influence  of  the  troubadours  as  literary 
artists.  But  their  poetry  was  not  only  an  art  but  a  life. 
It  had  substance  as  well  as  form,  and  besides  the  idea  of 
literature  it  embodied  the  idea  of  love.  What  became  of 
that? 

Substance  as  w'ell  as  form  had  a  widespread  influence, 
and  indeed  the  two  could  not  be  separated.  England 
was  but  slightl}'  affected  and  Scandinavia  not  at  all,  but 
the  rest  of  Europe  received  a  general  indoctrination,  and 
the  sentiments  and  ideas  of  chiv^alric  love  became  a  part 
of  modern  life. 

But  the  doctrine  had  a  special  line  of  development  and 
a  culmination  that  must  not  be  overlooked.  It  was  Peire 
Rogier,  as  perhaps  5'ou  remember,  who  took  the  first  long 
step  toward  making  courtl}^  love  a  system.  The  move- 
ment continued  and  in  the  course  of  time  love  became 
wonderfully  transformed.  As  Antoine  Thomas  has  said, 
"  Eove  put  song  into  the  mouths  of  the  earliest  trouba- 
dours, and  song  put  love — more  or  less  real — into  the 
hearts  of  those  who  came  after."  In  other  words  love 
became  artificial  and  intellectual.  The  French  poets 
e-speciall}'  refined  the  passion  till  it  was  almost  a  science, 
and  the  Italian  poets  made  it  still  more  unsubstantial  and 
theoretical. 

Then  Dante  came. 

Dante  was  the  tj-pical  troubadour  spiritualized.     The 


Their  Apotheosis  '^']'] 

stature  of  his  character  lifted  his  thoughts  full  to  the  level 
of  this  cloud-like,  sublimated  love  ;  and,  breathing  into  it 
the  fire  of  his  exalted  nature — as  Bernart  de  Ventadorn 
had  breathed  himself  into  the  poetry  of  his  time — he 
changed  a  graven  theor}'  into  a  New  Life.  Just  as  the 
troubadour  devoted  all  his  powers  to  the  praise  of  his  lad}', 
Dante  wrote  the  Dhine  Comedy  to  celebrate  a  spiritual 
mistress  with  homage  such  as  never  had  been  paid  before."' 

To  understand  the  troubadours  we  must  remember  this. 
As  the  eye  follows  the  uplift  of  the  earth  into  the  moun- 
tain, rising  higher  and  higher  past  hill  and  valley,  past 
spring  and  torrent,  past  the  black  gorge,  the  scar  of  the 
avalanche,  the  glacier,  and  the  crag,  till  it  rests  upon  the 
summit  robed  in  pure  snow  and  shining  in  the  level  beams 
of  dawn  like  a  coal  from  the  altar,  so  our  thought  of  the 
troubadours  must  rise  through  all  the  planes  of  Provencal 
poetry,  through  its  truth  and  its  falseness,  through  its 
honor  and  its  earthiness,  through  its  pleasure  and  its  pain, 
its  joy  and  its  grief,  its  wrong  and  its  right,  until  we  see 
the  divine  strivings  of  our  poor,  weak,  glorious  human 
nature,  struggling  forever  on  toward  the  spiritual,  come 
at  last  with  Dante  to  the  abodes  of  bliss,  and  crossing  with 
him  the  stream  Lethe  gaze  in  heavenly  joy  upon  the  un- 
veiled Beatrice,  the  "  splendor  of  living  light  eternal." 

II  Farad i so  is  the  culmination  of  Provencal  ideas;  and 
Dante  Alighieri  is  the  interpretation,  the  fulfilment,  and 
the  apotheosis  of  the  troubadours. 


NOTES  ON  VOIvUME  TWO 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

1.  Page  5. — No  one  has  been  able  to  find  Montaudou  or  even  to 
be  sure  as  to  the  signification  of  the  name.  According  to  Klein, 
Montaudon  =  Montaldon  <  Montal  =  Mons  Altus.  Suchier  sees 
Moute-Albedoue  in  the  name.  The  place  appears  to  have  been  at 
no  great  distance  from  Orlac  (Aurillac). 

2.  P.  5. — On  monkish  vices  besides  the  indications  of  the  text 
(to  which  many  might  be  added)  it  may  be  found  interesting  to 
consult  D.  Duemmler  in  the  Zcitschr.fiir  Deiitsches  Alterthuui, 
1878,  p.  256. 

3.  P.  6. — Nothing  remains  of  the  abbey  of  Orlac.  Fragments 
dating,  as  is  thought,  from  the  eleventh  century  have  been  built 
into  the  church  of  St  Geraud,  but  the  church  itself  is  not  ancient. 

4.  P.  9. — The  only  thing  we  can  say  with  certainty  of  the  Monk's 
personal  appearance  is  that  his  face  was  shaven,  for  we  know  that 
he  detested  monks  who  wore  beards.  I  have  represented  him  as 
jolly  in  spite  of  his  satirical  and  contentious  nature,  because  evi- 
dently he  was  a  hearty  eater  and  drinker,  a  man  of  animal  spirits, 
and  a  popular  "good  fellow."  A  cold,  cynical,  snarling  man 
would  never  have  been  made  "lord  "  of  the  court  of  Le  Puy,  not 
to  cite  other  proofs.  His  satire  and  his  wrangling  must  be  under- 
stood according  to  his  temperament. 

5.  P.  II.— Vid.  No.  41,  p.  132. 

6.  P.  II. — The  Monk's  conversation  with  the  abbot,  etc.,  is 
imaginary,  based  on  the  fact  that  the  king's  order  to  the  Monk 
seems  to  have  been  in  imitation  of  a  father  superior's  directions. 

7.  P.  12. — On  women's  painting  cf.  line  2445  +  of  the  Clef 
d' Amors  CNo.  144):  "  Leide  chose  est  a  regarder  \  que  de  veer  fame 
fardery 

379 


380  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

8.  P.  14. — The  three  stories  are  from  Etienne  de  Bourbon.  I 
have  modified  the  form  of  the  third. 

9.  P.  15.— Vid.  No.  342,  XIV.,  St.  14,  15,  and  17.  The  last  part 
of  the  first  of  these  three  stanzas  is  very  obscure,  but  I  venture  to 
believe  that  I  have  caught  the  meaning.  Saffron  was  a  favorite 
seasoning.  It  came  from  the  east  and  was  pretty  dear,  because 
not  easy  to  get.  Klein  challenges  the  authenticity  of  this  poem, 
and  behind  him  is  probably  a  greater  scholar  than  he ;  but  the 
grounds  seem  not  very  solid,  and  I  content  myself  with  recording 
the  opinion.  I  have  made  the  translation  "rough  and  ready  "  in 
imitation  of  the  original. 

10.  P.  15.— Vid.  No.  358,  IV.,  p.  42,  St.  4.  "Answers,"  lit. 
"said." 

11.  P.  17. — The  character  of  the  Monk's  amorous  poetry  is  illus- 
trated by  this  stanza  :  "  Like  one  who  is  summoned  to  court  for 
some  slight  offence  and  finds  the  tribunal  unfavorable  to  him,  and 
could  easily  take  refuge  in  flight,  but  is  conscious  of  so  trifling  a 
fault  that  he  will  not  flee,  but  prefers  to  appear  though  full  of  anxi- 
ety, so  I  have  been  brought  by  Love  to  a  place  where  right  avails  me 
not,  where  I  dare  not  implore  favor  and  am  not  capable  of  flight." 

12.  P.  18. — Though  the  text  follows  the  general  opinion  that  this 
was  written  by  another  hand,  I  have  a  suspicion  that  the  Monk 
composed  it  in  a  spirit  of  good-natured  amends  for  what  he  had 
said  of  others. 

13.  P.  19. — The  better  impulses  of  the  Monk  are  shown  in  the 
following  quotation  from  him,  recorded  by  Francesco  da  Barberino, 
who  lived  a.d.  1300.  "Who  will  prove  to  me  that  it  is  unlawful 
to  love  a  lady  as  a  true  lover?  If  I  love  my  friend  for  mj'  own 
sake,  I  love  him  not  truly  ;  if  I  love  him  for  his  sake,  I  do  love 
truly  ;  if  I  love  him  for  both  our  sakes,  I  still  love  ;  but  if  I  love 
him  for  my  own  sake  and  against  his,  then  I  hate  him.  So  I  will 
love  my  lady  for  my  own  sake,  that  in  the  hope  of  pleasing  her  I 
may  avoid  vice  and  attach  myself  to  virtue,  and  so  be  able  to  live 
a  delightful  life  ;  I  will  love  her  for  her  sake,— that  is,  I  will  honor 
and  exalt  her  name  and  her  reputation,  and  I  will  be  the  guardian 
of  her  honor  as  if  it  were  the  honor  of  my  friend.  And  if,  per- 
chance, the  weakness  of  human  nature  excite  within  me  some  im- 
proper desire,  I  shall  conquer  this  desire  by  the  strength  of  her 
love,  and  I  believe  it  will  be  a  greater  proof  of  virtue  to  have 
desires  and  repress  them  than  not  to  have  them." 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXV.  381 

14.  p.  19. — The  "literary  baggage"  of  the  Monk  that  has  sur- 
vived is  seventeen  or  eighteen  pieces.  It  is  suspected  that  he 
wrote  stories.  According  to  Klein  (No.  219)  he  was  still  alive  in 
1207,  but  his  active  period  was  the  last  quarter  of  the  preceding 
century. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

1.  P.  20. — The  line  between  French  and  Proven9al  is  determined 
by  certain  linguistic  peculiarities,  and  varies  somewhat  according 
to  the  standard  adopted  ;  e.  g.  the  line  based  on  consonants  is  not 
the  same  as  the  line  based  on  vowels.  Of  course  it  is  impossible 
to  fix  it  with  certainty,  and  the  rough  indication  of  the  text  is 
enough  for  the  general  reader.  For  a  more  exact  boundary  take 
tho  following  line  drawn  by  P.  Meyer  :  From  the  ocean  a  little 
north  of  Bordeaux,  north  of  Gironde,  east  of  Charente,  north  of 
Haute  Vienne  and  Creuse,  south  of  Allier,  through  the  centre  of 
Loire,  along  the  Rhone  so  as  to  include  a  part  of  Ain  and  Savoy, 
the  Alps  to  Ventimiglia.  As  M.  Meyer  says,  to  know  the  exact 
boundaries  is  of  little  importance.  According  to  Strabo  the  line 
between  the  Belgian  and  the  Celtic  tribes  was  the  Loire,  and  that 
was  the  nearest  natural  line  between  the  French  and  the  Proven- 
gal  idioms,  as  Chabaneau  remarks. 

2.  P.  21. — In  speaking  of  Auvergue  I  include  the  province  of 
Velay,  which  belonged,  however,  politically  to  the  counts  of 
Toulouse. 

3.  P.  21. — The  supremacy  of  the  name  Provengal  was  doubtless 
aided  by  the  fact  that  Provence  (beyond  the  Rhone)  remained 
long  independent  of  France. 

4.  P.  27. — Margaret  of  Valois,  wife  of  Henry  IV.,  lived  at  Ussel 
{Prov.  Uissel)  in  a  castle  situated  where  the  market-place  now  is, 
directly  across  the  street  from  the  house  shown  in  the  picture.  It 
is  natural  to  suppose  that  the  troubadour's  castle  occupied  the 
same  ground.  Gui  d'Uissel  appears  to  have  been  also  prevdi  of 
Eymoutiers. 

5.  P.  27. — The  names  of  his  brothers  were  Eble  and  Peire.  Gui 
wrote  songs,  and  of  the  seventeen  that  we  possess  a  number — par- 
ticularly the  pastorals — were  pleasant  parlor  poetry  for  the  day. 
From  Eble  we  have  four  tensos  with  Gui,  and  from  Elias  five 
tensos  with  Gui,  with  G .  Faidit,  and  with  A.  dePeguilha.  The 
smallness  of  their  fiefs  may  have  been  due  to  the  fact  that  in  the 


382  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Midi  there  was  no  rule  of  primogeniture.  Peire  "  descantava'^ 
what  the  others  composed,  which  signifies  (as  Restori  thinks)  that 
he  supplied  harmonies  to  their  melodies.  The  group  flourished 
about  1200. 

6.  P.  27.— The  husband  of  Margarida  was  Rainaut  VI. 

7.  P.  28.— The  story  of  Gidas  (probably  a  corruption  for  Gida  or 
Guida)  comes  to  us  in  MS.  P.  (XIV.  century).  Jeanroy  has  ex- 
pressed the  opinion  that  it  was  invented  to  explain  the  tenso  of 
Gui  and  Elias,  but  it  appears  so  bona-fide  that  it  seems  a  little 
difficult  not  to  feel  that  the  author  had  some  basis  besides  the  tenso. 
The  knight  whom  Gidas  married  is  said  to  have  been  named 
Reuardon.  She  was  called  Gidas  of  Mondas,  perhaps  the  place 
named  in  Latin  Monetas,  near  the  abbey  of  Villemagne. 

8.  P.  28.— Of  Maria  de  Ventadorn  we  shall  hear  further  in 
Chapter  XXXIV.  The  "  particular  friend  "  was  the  count  de  la 
Marcha.  In  connection  with  the  friendship  between  her  and 
Gui,  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  there  is  still  at  Ussel  a  chateau- 
like house  (a  corner  of  it  is  seen  at  the  right  of  the  picture)  long 
belonging  to  the  viscounts  of  Ventadour. 

9.  P.  29.— Vid.  No.  358,  IV.,  p.  28,  St.  6. 

CHAPTER  XXVI, 

1.  p.  31. — Arthur  Young's  literal  mind  was  considerably  upset 
by  Auvergne.  "Nature  in  the  production  of  this  country  must 
have  proceeded  by  means  not  common  elsewhere,"  he  observed. 

2.  P.  33. — The  church  has  been  abandoned.  The  labor  of 
reaching  it  was  so  great  that  it  might  be  termed  the  high-water 
mark  of  piety. 

3.  P.  35.— They  say  of  the  cathedral  :  "  One  enters  by  the  navel 
and  comes  out  by  the  ears,"  for  the  exit  is  by  lateral  vestibules. 

4.  P.  36.— The  bishops  of  Le  Puy  occupied  a  position  of  special 
dignity  ;  they  held  directly  from  the  pope  ;  they  were  counts  as 
well  as  bishops,  and  they  had  the  right  to  coin  money.  Some  of 
their  coins  struck  about  1200  are  among  the  most  beautiful  of 
feudal  France.  Aimar  (Adhemar)  distinguished  himself  especially 
at  the  siege  of  Antioch,  where  he  was  the  heart  of  all  brave  and 
noble  effort. 

5.  P.  38.— We  know  nothing  as  to  Cardinal's  personal  appear- 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXVI.  2>^t, 

ance.     As  for  his  age,  in  his  time  few  men  knew  just  how  old  they 
were,  but  the  biographer  considered  himself  well  posted. 

6.  P.  3g. — The  abbey  of  Chanleuges  may  be  cited  as  one 
example. 

7.  P.  39. — Vid.  No.  41,  No.  77,  lines  1-4. 

8.  P.  40. — It  is  evident  that  Cardinal  studied  Bertran  de  Born. 
Most  of  his  verse-forms  were  borrowed.  He  was  perhaps  too 
much  in  earnest  to  cultivate  an  idle  pride  in  originality,  and  in- 
deed one  so  unique  could  not  have  been  thought  an  imitator. 

9.  P.  40.— Vid.  No.  358,  IV.,  p.  350,  St.  2. 

10.  P.  41. — Vid.  No.  63,  col.  173,  St.  I. 

11.  P.  41. — Vid.  No.  41,  No.  77,  St.  3. 

12.  P.  41. — Vid.  No.  269. 

13.  P.  44. — Vid.  No.  41,  No.  III.  In  1.  13  I  follow  MS.  R.  be- 
cause that  reading  alone  gives  an  unmistakable  meaning,  and  in 
line  24  I  fill  Appel's  blank  with  Bartsch's  vieioas.  L.  39,  "nose," 
lit.  "cheek."  This  fable  is,  according  to  Diez,  the  only  one  in 
Provencal  literature  strictly  considered. 

14.  P.  44. — Vid.  No.  358,  III.,  p.  436,  St.  I.  L.  9,  lit.  "  have  her 
company." 

15.  P.  45. — Vid.  No.  63,  col.  174. 

16.  P.  45. — Vid.  No.  358,  III.,  p.  436,  St.  3.  Of  about  seventy 
pieces  by  Cardinal  only  three  are  devoted  to  the  subject  of  love, 
and  these  are  not  exactly  "love-songs,"  as  the  reader  has  per- 
ceived. 

17.  P.  47.— Vid.  No.  358,  IV.,  p.  364.  I  give  the  whole.  A  lit- 
eral translation  is  as  follows  :  "  i.  A  new  sirvente  I  will  to  begin, 
which  I  will  repeat,  at  the  day  of  the  judgment,  to  him  that  made 
me  and  formed  me  of  nothing,  if  he  think  to  accuse  me  of  aught. 
And  if  he  wish  to  put  me  in  the  devils'  abode,  I  will  say  to  him  : 
'  Lord,  pray  let  it  not  be,  for  in  the  evil  world  I  have  travailed  all 
my  years,  and  keep  me,  if  you  please,  from  the  torments.'  2.  All 
his  court  will  I  cause  to  marvel  when  they  shall  hear  my  pleading, 
for  I  will  say  that  he  does  wrong  to  his  own  if  he  think  to  destroy 
and  damn  them  ;  for  whoso  loses  that  which  he  might  gain,  bj' 
good  right  has  lack  in  consequence  of  his  baseness,  and  he  ought 
to  be  sweet  and  liberal  in  keeping  his  dying  souls.  3.  Never 
ought  he  to  close  his  door,  and  St.  Peter  gets  great  shame  in  this 


384  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

(for  lie  is  the  doorkeeper),  unless  with  laughter  enter  there  every 
soul  that  would  like  to  enter,  for  no  court  will  ever  be  perfect  that 
causes  some  to  weep  and  others  to  laugh,  and  although  he  is  su- 
preme, might}'  King,  if  he  open  not  to  us  he  will  be  asked  to  do 
it.  4.  The  devils  he  should  banish  [lit.  disinherit],  and  he  would 
have  more  souls  for  it  [and]  more  often,  and  the  banishing  would 
please  everybody,  and  he  himself  could  pardon  himself  for  it  to 
my  entire  satisfaction  ;  he  might  destrov  them  all,  for  we  all  know 
that  he  could  absolve  himself  for  it.  Fair  Lord  God,  set  about 
banishing  the  wearisome  and  oppressive  enemies  !  5.  I  will  not 
to  lose  hope  in  you  but  I  have  my  good  hope  in  you,  wherefore 
you  must  save  my  soul  and  my  body  ;  and  do  you  stand  by  me  at 
my  death  ;  and  I  will  offer  you  a  fine  choice  :  that  you  return  me 
there  whence  I  moved  the  first  day,  or  that  you  be  forgiving 
toward  my  faults,  for  I  should  not  have  committed  them  had  I  not 
first  been  born.  6.  If  I  am  wrong  in  this  and  in  hell  should  burn, 
by  my  faith  it  would  be  wrong  and  wicked,  for  I  can  well  recrimi- 
nate against  you,  since  for  one  good  I  have  a  thousand  times  as 
much  ill.  7.  In  the  name  of  mercy,  I  pray  you,  holy  Lady  Mary, 
that  with  your  son  you  be  our  good  guide,  so  that  you  may  take 
the  fathers  and  the  children  and  put  them  there  where  St.  John 
is."  (In  Crescini's  text  the  third  stanza  is  in  the  second  person  : 
"  Your  gate,"  etc.) 

Religious  independence  was  not  so  rare  at  that  day  as  we  some- 
times think.  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  the  famous  minne- 
singer, is  another  illustration  of  the  fact. 

18.  P.  47. — As  the  text  shows,  our  information  about  Cardinal  is 
very  slight  •  but  we  know  from  whomMt  comes,  Miquel  de  la  Tor, 
a  scribe  of  Nismes.  The  time  of  his  poetical  activity,  as  indicated 
by  his  poems,  was  the  period  of  the  Albigensian  war,  and  is  fixed 
as  1210-1230.  In  1204  a  Petrus  Cardinalis  was  secretary  {scriba) 
to  the  count  of  Toulouse,  which  fits  well  with  the  troubadour's 
education  in  letters  and  his  partisanship  for  the  count. 
The  following  scattered  quotations  are  worthy  of  record  : 
"Out  of  you  [Esteve  de  Belmont]  will  be  made  the  liquor  with 
which  other  traitors  will  be  anointed."  "Whoso  would  hear  a 
sirvente  woven  of  disgusts,  a  mixture  of  shames,  let  him  ask  it  of 
me,  for  I  have  spun  the  thread  and  can  make  both  warp  and  woof. 
And  I  know  well  how  to  pick  out  the  base  and  know  their  de- 
pravity. The  noble  and  excellent  please  me,  and  I  hate  the  false 
and  treasonable."     "  A  faithless  man  that  sells  his  words."     "  Do 


Notes  on  Chapter   XXVII.  385 

yon  know  what  becomes  of  the  wcaltli  of  those  who  have  j^otten  it 
unjustly?  There  will  come  a  mighty  robber,  and  lie  will  leave 
them  naught.  His  name  is  Death.  With  four  ells  of  net  he  will 
catch  them,  and  he  will  send  them  to  an  abode  of  misery."  "  A 
worthless  life  I  prize  less  than  death."  "Who  would  reap  must 
first  sow."  "All  go  to  their  reward — the  deceived  and  the  de- 
ceiver." "If  she  deceive  me,  deceiver  she  shall  find  me."  "  I 
uever  gained  so  much  in  anything  as  when  I  lost  my  lady."  "I 
pray  God  to  confound  traitors,  to  overthrow  and  abase  them." 
"  Listen,  thou  that  governest  the  church  and  covetest  and  attack- 
est  the  rights  of  others:  thou  damnest  thyself  by  the  wrong." 
"If  you  should  offer  him  a  maravedi  for  telling  the  truth,  and  a 
barbarin  for  lying,  the  barbarin  would  win."  "  If  a  poor  man 
stole  a  shroud,  he  would  he  a  thief  and  would  go  about  hanging 
his  head  ;  but  if  a  rich  man  stole  a  shop  and  all  in  it,  he  would  go 
straightway  to  the  emperor's  court."  "If  they  can  but  get  the 
property,  it  matters  not  whose  eyes  fill  with  tears."  "  Should  you 
prick  them  in  two  or  three  places,  you  should  not  expect  truth, 
but  falsehoods,  to  come  forth." 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

1.  P.  48. — Polignac  {Prov.  Polonhac)  is  about  an  hour's  walk 
from  Le  Puy. 

2.  Pp.  48  and  49.— Vid.  No.  358,  III.,  p.  298,  st.  i  and  5.  By 
inadvertence  the  first  four  lines  were  rhymed  a  a  b  b  instead  of 
a  b  b  a  as  in  the  original,  but  as  the  piece  is  of  no  special  import- 
ance it  did  not  seem  worth  while  to  rewrite  them.  This  scene  is 
entirely  imaginary,  and  so  is  what  the  lady  says  to  herself.  Her 
answer  to  Guilhem  is  from  the  biography.  From  the  fact  that  the 
poem  is  addressed  to  Bertran  it  would  perhaps  seem  natural  to 
suppose  that  it  was  composed  later  in  the  course  of  the  intimacy, 
Init  we  do  not  know  at  what  stage  that  name  began  to  be  used. 

3.  P.  49. — The  positive  statement  that  the  viscountess  (her  name 
was  probably  Bellissenda)  was  blonde  is  based  upon  the  statement 
of  the  biography  that  she  was  the  sister  of  the  Dalfin  (see  Chapter 
XXIX.).  If  like  Baluze  we  suppose  that  she  was  his  sister-in-law 
we  lose  this  evidence,  but  still  should  suppose  her  of  light  com- 
plexion.    We  have  no  other  indication  of  her  personal  appearance. 

4.  P.  53. — The  trained  archaeologist  Merimee  made  short  work 

VOL.  II.  —  25 


386  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

of  many  of  the  alleged  evidences  of  Polignac's  past  history.  The 
"mask"  could  not  have  been  Apollo,  and  was  probably  not  con- 
nected with  an  oracle  as  some  have  supposed  ;  and  it  is  not  certain 
that  the  inscription  to  Claudius  proves  that  he  visited  the  spot,  for 
it  may  have  been  brought  there  later.  Still  the  traditions  have 
their  value  in  showing  the  awe  that  Polignac  has  inspired  for 
centuries.  Merimee  thought  that  the  "Abyss"  was  constructed 
during  the  Middle  Ages.  The  "  Well  of  the  Oracle  "  shows  work- 
manship of  the  XV.  century,  but  of  course  may  have  existed  much 
earlier. 

5.  P.  54. — This  number  is  a  guess. 

6.  P.  54. — As  to  coinage  an  arrangement  was  made  after  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  by  which  the  viscounts  had  a  royalty  of  five  deniers 
a  pound  on  the  coinage  of  Le  Puy. 

7.  P.  55.— This  was  Heraclius  III.  The  history  of  the  viscounts 
at  this  time  is  very  difficult  for  the  accounts  are  meagre,  proper 
names  are  seldom  used,  and  the  title  was  often  applied  at  the  same 
time  to  more  than  one  person,  i.  e.,  to  father  and  son,  or  even  to 
father  and  two  sons.  I  should  like  to  be  a  little  surer  that  every 
act  attributed  to  Heraclius  III.  was  committed  by  him,  for  I  have 
accepted  some  statements  on  authority  not  of  the  first  order. 
There  is  no  doubt  however  that  he  was  a  man  of  that  kind,  and 
this  is  the  only  essential  point  for  us.  His  penitential  entry  into 
Brioude,  which  he  had  sacked,  took  place  early  in  Sept.,  1181.  In 
1 198  he  had  been  succeeded  by  his  son.  Pons  III.,  and  he  was 
certainly  dead  before  July  i,  1201  (Restori).  One  of  his  brothers 
was,  like  Gui  d'Uissel,  a  canon  of  Brioude.  We  do  not  know  at 
what  point  of  his  career  his  wife's  affair  with  Sain  Leidier  took 
place.  No.  139  records:  ''lis  [i.  c.  Pons  vie.  de  Polignac  ct 
Heracle  son  fils']  renondrent  [//7/'\  a  Phommage  quHls  avoient 
exigi'  des  vassaux  de  I'Eglise  du  Puy,  enirc  autres.  .  .  .  Guil- 
laume  de  St.  Didier  [Leidier].'" 

8.  P.  56. — Arnaut  Guilhem  de  Marsan  seems  to  have  lived  in  the 
time  of  Amfos  X.  of  Castile  (1252-1284),  and  to  have  practised  his 
arts  of  politeness  so  effectually  as  to  win  the  love  of  the  king's 
daughter.  We  have  from  him  only  this  Ensetthamen  (didactic 
poem). 

9.  P.  58.— For  Marsan's  i?«5^;//;aw^;/  Vid.  No.  41,  No.  112.  For 
the  shortish  robe  cf.  No.  144,  1.  2377  +  :  "  Lars  ne  soil  ta  robe  si 
basse  \  que  la  biante  de  ton  pic  fiasse."  Just  what  Marsan  meant  by 


Notes  on  Chapter   XXV 11.  387 

his  direction  about  the  "  radrssal/ia  "  and  the  "  venlal/ia  "  is  not 
clear.  Appel  translates  '' vcutalha'''  indefiniteh- as  ''  schutz  fiir 
den  nnteren  Teil  des  Gesichts,"'  but  Ouicheral  in  No.  353  argues 
that  it  was  the  hood  of  the  hauberk. 

10.  V.  58. — The  biography  de.scribes  Sain  Leidier  as  a  "  highly 
honored  man,  and  a  good  knight  in  arms,  generous,  most  grace- 
fully accomplished  and  courtly,  a  very  true  lover,  and  greatlv 
loved  and  favored."  This  description  and  the  facts  of  the  story 
seem  to  mark  him  as  the  ideal  getitleinan  of  the  day  according  to 
the  standards  of  polite  society.  I  have  therefore  intended  to 
sketch  such  a  type  by  applying  to  him  the  accepted  attributes, 
especially  as  set  forth  by  Marsan . 

11.  P.  59. — This  conversation  is  imaginary,  but  the  gist  of  it  is 
given  by  the  razo. 

12.  Pp.  59  and  60. — The  form  of  this  piece  I  obtained  from  a 
portion  quoted  in  No.  269,  p.  334,  and  the  substance  of  the  rest 
from  No.  142,  p.  262.  Diez  gives  six  stanzas.  The  ladv's  reflec- 
tions are  imaginary. 

13.  P.  60. — She  was  the  countess  of  Roussillon  (Rossilho),  near 
Vienne  (Isere),  not  the  district  of  the  same  name  on  the  Spanish 
border. 

61. — To  St.  Antoui  (now  St.  Marcelin,  near  Vienne). 

61. — The  lady's  remarks  are  imaginar}'. 

62. — "  Bertran,  Bertran,"  etc.,  see  No.  142,  p.  264. 
17.  P.  62. — I  give  the  sequel  of  the  story  for  whatever  it  may  be 
worth  as  it  is  believed  in  the  region  of  Le  Puy.  The  Provencal 
documents  say  nothing  of  the  results  of  the  lady's  vengeful  expe- 
dition except  that  Sain  Leidier  transferred  his  affections  quietly  to 
the  lady  of  Roussillon.  No.  139  holds  that  this  viscountess  had 
for  second  husband  the  lord  of  Mercoeur,  in  short  that  she  was 
Sail  de  Claustra  ;  but  this  view,  besides  being  contradicted  by  the 
Proven9al  documents,  is  improbable.  (Note 6,  Chap.  XXIX.)  The 
vicountess  is  called  "marqueza,"  which — so  Restori  argues — must 
have  been  her  name  and  not  her  title  ;  for  as  her  father  was  a 
count  and  her  husband  a  viscount  she  would  not  bear  that  title. 
But,  I  venture  to  suggest,  she  is  called  "  marqueza  de  I'Esclache  " 
twice  in  the  will  of  the  countess  of  Montferrand,  and  so  may  per- 
haps have  had  another  husband  and  have  taken  the  title  from  him. 
Sain  Leidier  was  a  gentlemanly  poet,  not  great  in  any  way,  but 


14- 

P 

15- 

P, 

16. 

P. 

388  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

on  the  other  band  free  from  bad  taste.  His  pieces  were  graceful, 
and  be  enjoys  the  distinction  of  being  the  first  troubadour  to  em- 
ploy in  lyrics  the  Alexandrine,  so  important  in  French  prosody. 
His  active  period  was  1180-1200,  and  we  have  eleven  pieces  cer- 
tainly from  bim  (Paul  Meyer)  with  several  others  in  doubt.  Ac- 
cording to  certain  MSS.  Peire  Raimon  of  Toulouse  lived  a  long 
time  with  him,  but  this  is  probably  an  error.  His  home  was  at 
St.  Didier-sur-Doulon  near  Brioude,  and  for  that  reason  he  is  often 
called  G.  de  St.  Didier. 

His  grandson,  Gauseran  de  Sain  Leidier,  was  a  poet  and  has  left 
us  one  or  two  pieces.  He  loved  the  countess  of  Vienne,  daughter 
of  the  Marquis  Guilhem  IV.  of  Monferrat. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

1.  P.  66. — It  may  be  thought  that  I  have  idealized  Pons  de  Cap- 
duelh,  if  one  merely  read  his  poems  and  the  scanty  accounts  of 
him,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  only  brought  out  the  feelings 
and  motives  fairly  discoverable  in  these  texts.  Very  likely  he 
was  not  conscious  of  all  I  have  found  in  him  ;  but  that  does  not 
signify,  for  it  was  an  unconscious  age,  and  one  truly  noble  is  often 
—if  not  always — the  last  to  perceive  the  fact.  The  biography 
makes  but  one  criticism,  that  he  was  "close";  but  this  only 
means  that  he  was  prudent,  for  an  unreasoning  prodigality  was 
the  ideal  of  the  time.  As  a  poet  Pons  was  not  remarkable,  which 
is  perhaps  not  to  his  discredit  as  a  man.  His  songs  are  pure, 
high-minded,  artistic,  pleasing,  and  full  of  feeling,  without  special 
originality  or  power  ;  he  possessed  no  little  talent,  but  came  short 
of  genius. 

2.  P.  71. — The  Clef  d' Amors  said  :  "  To  sing  is  a  fine  and  noble 
thing,  especially  for  a  young  lady." 

3.  P.  71.— Garin  lo  Bruu  was  a  noble  castellan  of  the  Velay,  and 
lived  during  the  second  half  of  the  twelfth  century.  He  may  be 
the  Garinus  Bruni  who  appears  in  history  in  1174.  He  wrote 
neither  vers  nor  cansons,  but  only  tensos.  Of  these  we  have  one 
(in  effect  a  canson)  and  also  an  eJisenhainen.  A  portion  of  the  lat- 
ter may  be  found  in  No.  63,  col.  89.  The  following  lines  (not 
given  by  Bartsch)  are  worth  recording  :  Cortcsia  es  tals  \  se  voleg 
saber  cals :  \  qui  ben  sap  dir  c  far  \  per  c'om  lo  deia  ainar  \  e  se 
garda  d''enueis\    .     .     .    Cortcsia  es  en  guarnir\   e  en  gent  acuil- 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXVIII.  389 

lir ;  I  Cortesia  es  d''onrar  \  c  es  en  gen  parlaj- ;  \  Cortesia  es  en 
solatz. 

4.  P.  72. — We  know  almost  nothing  of  Alazais  except  that  she 
was  such  as  to  completely  satisfy  the  mind  of  Pons,  so  that  he 
loved  no  other.  His  poems,  not  being  written  for  us,  give  no  in- 
formation about  her,  except  of  the  most  general  sort.  In  describ- 
ing her  education  and  manner  of  life  I  have  meant  to  give  a 
picture  of  the  well-bred  lady  of  the  day.  Her  personal  appearance 
as  I  have  described  it  was  the  accepted  type  of  womanly  beauty. 
I  have  not  exaggerated  her  housewifely  accomplishments,  for — to 
give  a  single  illustration — the  wife  of  Girart  de  Rossillon,  duke  of 
Burgundy,  is  represented  as  cutting  and  making  a  man's  garment 
after  her  husband's  fall,  and  even  as  contributing  regularly  to 
their  support  by  her  unusual  skill  at  needlework.  The  father  of 
Alazais  was  Bernart  VII.  of  Anduze.     See  note  6,  Chap.  XXIX. 

5.  P.  73. — Of  course  all  that  is  said  as  to  the  inner  life  of  Pons 
and  Alazais  is  inferential.  As  for  their  public  relations,  we  are 
told  that  "all  good  people"  took  pleasure  in  their  love,  and  that 
on  account  of  it  "  many  good  courts,  many  good  tournaments,  and 
many  good  social  gatherings  {solatz)  were  held." 

6.  P.  73.— Vid.  No.  319,  IX.,  St.  I. 

7.  P.  76. — Four  MSS.  give  an  acccount  of  Pons's  affair  at  Mar- 
seille. One  says  the  lady  was  the  wife  of  Roselin,  but  only  one  ; 
and  it  seems  reasonable  to  suppose  that  this  name  is  an  interpo- 
lation. Certainly  if  Pons  went  to  Palestine  on  the  third  crusade 
and  died  there,  he  did  not  pay  court  to  Roselin's  wife,  for  Roselin 
was  in  a  convent  until  Barral,  his  brother,  died  (1192).  The  MSS. 
agree  with  the  poems  that  the  lady's  name  was  Audiart,  and 
Chabaneau  suggests  that  she  may  have  been  the  Audiart  del  Bauz 
mentioned  in  a  piece  of  uncertain  date.  But  this  is  of  course  mere 
conjecture  and  "Audiart"  may  have  been  only  a  disguise.  In 
fact  we  have  already  seen  Miraval  and  Raimon  VI.  apply  that 
name  to  each  other.  The  fact  that  Pons  uses  it  in  speaking  of  his 
Marseille  lady  is  rather  evidence  that  it  was  not  her  real  name. 
For  these  reasons  and  those  given  in  the  text  I  think  it  was  Bar- 
ral's  wife  to  whom  Pons  paid  court.  (Such  I  find  the  view  of 
Zingarelli,  the  most  recent  scholar  to  touch  upon  this  point  so  far 
as  I  know.  See  No.  458,  p.  22.)  In  one  of  the  penitential  songs 
{Fos  mi  ren  bella  dons'  aiiiia)  he  praises  Audiart  at  the  end; 
which,  according  to  Springer  (No.  404),  proves  that  it  was  to  her 


390  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

that  Pons  returned.  But  as  his  relations  with  Audiart  were  purely 
formal  it  was  quite  natural  and  proper  to  give  her  a  farewell 
compliment  on  returning  to  his  first  love.  Finally,  it  looks  as  if 
(see  end  of  paragraph  one  of  note  i6  below)  Alazais  died  before 
1 190,  in  which  case  Audiart  cannot  have  been  Roselin's  wife. 

8.  P.  77.— Vid.  No.  319,  VIII.,  St.  1. 

g_  p_  77, — Xhe  countess  of  Montferrand  was  the  Dalfin's  wife 
(see  next  chapter). 

ID.  P.  78. — More  will  be  said  of  the  joglars  and  their  nmsic  later. 
The  ball  is  imaginary,  but  there  is  authority  for  every  feature 
of  it. 

11.  P.  79. — Very  little  indeed  is  known  of  the  dances  of  this 
period,  and  indeed  it  seems  likely  that  although  people  danced 
and  danced  often  the  art  was  not  in  a  very  flourishing  state,  for  the 
dances  of  the  past  had  fallen  under  the  censure  of  the  Church.  I 
think,  however,  that  what  I  have  said  is  quite  safe. 

12.  P.  80. — A  glance  through  the  Musee  de  Cluny  will  satisfy 
any  one  without  reference  to  books  of  the  elegance  and  fineness  of 
the  silk  fabrics  of  this  period.  Geoffroi  de  Vigeois  and  otherstestify 
to  the  richness  of  stuffs  and  the  luxury  of  dress.  People  revelled 
in  color.  Recall  how  Dante  described  the  crimson  in  which 
Beatrice  first  appeared  to  him  as  "  modest  and  becoming."  If  the 
ladies'  dresses  did  fit  pretty  closely,  we  may  reflect  that  on  the 
other  hand  they  were  not  at  all  decollete. 

13.  P.  82. — Vincent  de  Beauvais  divided  eyes  into  four  classes  : 
black,  grey,  glaucous  (including  both  green  and  blue),  and  vair. 
He  defines  vair  eyes  as  those  showing  yellow  rays,  or  red  and 
white  spots.  Our  only  positive  information  about  the  personal 
appearance  of  Pons  is  that  he  was  "  large  and  handsome." 

14.  P.  84. — Vid.  No.  63,  col.  123.  I  give  the  whole.  The  trans- 
lation follows  the  original  so  closely  in  most  cases  that  a  literal 
translation  seems  unnecessary.  A  few  points,  however,  require 
remark.  St.  2,  1.  7  :  lit.  "  vSt.  Peter  and  St.  John  return  her  soul  " 
This  cannot  mean  "  restore  to  life,"  for  the  poet  thinks  of  her  as 
definitively  gone  to  the  other  world,  and  wishes  to  go  there  him- 
self. Probably  it  refers  to  deliverance  from  purgatory,  and  St. 
John's  name  may  be  added  to  St.  Peter's  for  the  sake  of  rhyme, 
or  because  he  was,  perhaps,  the  patron  saint  of  Alazais,  or  simply 
because  of  his  special  power.     St.  3,  11.  4-9  :   "  What  avails  beauty 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXVIII.  391 

or  high  worth  [ever]  maintained  ;  or  what  avails  good  sense, 
honor,  and  gay  conversation  (solatz),  graceful  address,  or  any 
courtly  endeavor  ;  or  what  avail  noble  words  or  excellent  deeds? 
Sad  world,  with  a  good  heart  I  hate  you  !  You  are  worth  very, 
very  little,  when  the  best  is  said  {pos  lo  vieils  n'  es  a  dire).  "  St.  4, 
1.  4,  lit.  :  "Whom  the  people  praise,  the  Lord  praises"  ;  1.  6 :  the 
allusion  is  to  the  custom  of  scattering  flowers  on  the  floors  on  fete 
days.  The  poem  is  addressed  to  Andreu,  an  unknown  friend  of 
the  poet. 

The  Provencal  Laments  ^plaiihs)  are  in  many  cases  notably  full 
of  feeling.  Aside  from  the  obvious  reason  for  this,  there  was  a 
special  one  :  the  lover  was  no  longer  restrained  by  the  prudential 
considerations  that  had  to  be  regarded  while  his  lady  was  alive. 

15.  P.  84.— Vid.  No.  358,  IV.,  p.  90,  St.  4. 

16.  P.  84. — There  is  a  question  whether  Pons  was  not  alive  after 
the  third  crusade,  based  chiefly  on  three  facts  :  i.  A  certain  Pons 
de  Capduelh  appears  in  documentary  history  from  1195  to  1236  ; 
but  it  was  common  for  a  name  to  be  handed  down  in  a  family. 
Besides,  if  the  troubadour  had  been  alive  up  to,  say  1200,  would  he 
not  have  been  verj'  likely  to  appear  in  the  Monk's  satire,  espe- 
cially as  the  Monk  was  of  the  same  region  ?  2.  Roselin  did  not 
emerge  from  his  convent  before  1192,  and  the  troubadour  was  said 
to  have  paid  court  to  his  wife  ;  but,  as  already  pointed  out,  it  does 
not  seem  likely  that  Audiart  was  Roselin's  wife.  3.  It  has  been 
suggested  that  apparefitly  the  viscountess  of  Aubusson  is  the  same 
who  appears  in  the  story  of  Gui  d'Uissel,  and  she  could  not  have 
become  viscountess  before  1193  ;  but  (even  if  we  feel  sure  that  this 
part  of  the  M.S.  is  correct)  there  is  nothing  in  the  MS.  indicating 
that  the  friend  of  Pons  was  the  same  as  the  friend  of  Gui ;  and 
even  if  she  were,  we  know  that  titles  were  often  applied  by  antici- 
jjation.  The  arguments,  therefore,  do  not  seem  strong.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  have  the  statement  in  nine  MSS. ,  including  all  of 
the  most  authoritative,  that  the  troubadour  "  took  the  cross,  went 
beyond  the  sea,  and  there  died."  Restori  states  that  Count  Ozil 
was  dean  at  Brioude  in  1190  and  bishop  of  Le  Puy  1197-1205, 
which  suggests  that  he  gave  up  the  world  on  account  of  his  wife's 
death  before  1190. 

We  have  about  thirty  lyrics  from  Pons.  Two  extracts  will  show 
his  feeling  about  love  :  "Humble  and  faithful  and  frank,  I  sup- 
plicate you,  with  loyal  heart,  good  and  worthy  lady,  for  you  are 


392  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  best  in  the  world  and  most  worthy  and  gentle  and  frank  and 
noble,  and  most  gentle  and  joyous  ;  wherefore  I  love  you — may  I 
never  have  other  profit — so  truly  that  I  think  of  nothing  else, 
even  when  I  pray  God,  whence  on  your  account  He  forgets  me." 
"  Happy  is  he  whom  love  keeps  joyous,  for  love  is  the  climax  of 
all  blessings,  and  through  love  one  is  gay  and  courteous,  noble  and 
gentle,  humble  and  proud ;  wherever  love  is,  one  carries  on  a 
thousand  times  better  wars  and  courts,  whence  arise  worthy  deeds  ; 
wherefore  I  have  put  all  my  heart  in  love  ;  and  since  I  have  good 
expectation  that  it  will  enrich  me,  I  do  not  complain  of  the 
distress  or  the  pain  that  I  bear." 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

1.  P.  89. — Vodable  is  an  old  place.  It  was  in  existence  at  the 
time  of  the  Roman  invasion,  and  a  Roman  road  going  from  the 
Spanish  frontier  to  the  north  passed  within  about  three  miles  of 
it.  The  peak  is  70  metres  high  and  200  metres  in  diameter.  The 
castle  was  destroyed  in  1633  bv  the  order  of  Richelieu,  and  at 
present  only  a  few  traces  remain.  Time  has  changed  even  the 
configuration  of  the  peak  a  little.  With  the  aid  of  an  engraving  of 
Ravel,  cut  in  1450,  and  investigations  made  on  the  ground,  an 
artist  painted  over  a  door  in  a  house  in  Vodable  a  complete  view 
of  the  fortress,  and  by  the  use  of  artificial  light  a  photographer 
from  Issoire  made  me  a  picture  of  this  painting  (see  p.  loi).  The 
two  shields  represent  the  gonfanon  of  the  dauphin  and  his  arms 
(the  dolphin).  It  is  curious  that,  as  A.  Prudhomme  states,  the 
emblem  was  not  used  until  about  100  years  after  the  name.  The 
name  was  first  applied  as  a  Christian  name,  then  as  a  family  name, 
then  as  a  title.  Guilhem  VII.,  the  dispossessed  count,  adopted 
the  title  because  it  was  that  of  his  maternal  family,  the  dauphins 
of  Vienne. 

2.  P.  89. — Brunenc's  bay  stallion  is  merely  a  guess. 

3.  P.  89. — He  was  probably  not  so  much  an  ambassador  as  a 
companion  of  the  ambassadors  (see  p.  388).  Technically  it  was 
not  an  "  embassy  "  at  all. 

4.  P.  90. — Perdigo  was  of  Lesperon  near  Largentiere  (Ardeche). 
The  monastery  in  which  he  died  was  called  Silvabela.  His  politi- 
cal songs  have  been  lost  ;  the  dozen  or  so  pieces  now  extant  are  all 
on  love.     His  good  musical  judgment  is  illustrated  by  his  saying, 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXIX.  393 

when  some  of  his  music  was  called  too  difficult,  that  the  accom- 
pauiment  must  agree  with  the  song.  His  music  was  of  the 
"chiselled"  sort,  without  nmch  warmth.  His  poetry  is  not 
specially  remarkable. 

5.  P.  94. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  loi.  The  original  is  rhymed  thus  : 
aaabaab;aaabaab;cccbccb; cccbccb;dddbddb; 
d  d  d  b  d  d  b  ;  etc.  All  the  rhymes  are  feminine,  and  the  last 
word  of  the  fourth  line  is  always  the  same  "■'  vilaynia.'"  As  the 
piece  is  not  really  a  song,  I  have  felt  at  liberty  to  discard  rhyme. 
The  bracketed  words  of  1.  i  of  tornada  two  are  from  Bartsch's 
edition.  The  translation  of  the  last  two  lines  is  not  quite  literal, 
the  meaning  of  the  text  not  being  clear. 

6.  P.  97. — It  has  been  held  by  some  that  Sail  was  in  fact  the 
same  as  the  viscountess  of  Polonhac,  and  Beraut  her  second  hus- 
band. But  the  Dalfin  evidently  believed  that  she  had  solidly 
virtuous  principles,  else  he  would  not  have  recommended  Peirol 
to  her,  and  he  could  not  have  entertained  such  an  opinion  of  the 
viscountess  after  her  famous  scandal  (see  also  note  17,  Chap. 
XXVII.).  Restori  (No.  25)  has  conjectured  that  Sail's  son  was  the 
husband  of  P.  de  Capduelh's  mistress.     Sail  died  before  1199. 

7.  P.  97. — Vid.  No.  63,  col.  139.  The  piece  contains  six  stanzas 
and  a  tornada  of  three  lines,  of  which  I  have  taken  st.  i  and  3. 
The  changes  of  rhyme  are  noteworthy.  Each  stanza  has  three 
groups  of  rhymes,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  translation.  Group  I. 
changes  with  each  stanza,  but  retains  a  certain  assonance  :  volha, 
valJia,  trcmbla,  ama,  mcza,  aniia.  Group  II.  changes  at  each  odd 
stanza,  and  here,  too,  there  is  a  partial  regard  for  assonance  : 
chan,  soven,  valors.  Group  HI.  does  not  change.  In  the  transla- 
tion I  have  tried  to  reproduce  the  character  of  the  changes.  The 
difficulties  of  the  form  imposed  some  freedom  of  rendering  particu- 
larly in  the  second  stanza,  but  evidently  the  poet  had  no  precise 
ideas  requiring  precise  expression. 

8.  P.  99.— Vid.  No.  358,  HI.,  p.  271.  The  piece  contains  six 
stanzas  (of  which  I  give  i,  4,  and  6)  and  one  tornada. 

9.  P.  99.— Vid.  No.  358,  III.,  p.  273.  The  piece  contains  six  st. 
(of  which  I  give  three)  and  two  tornadas.  The  rhymes  run  :  a  b  b 
ccd.dbbcca,  abbccd,  dbbcc  a,  etc.  The  piece  was  ad- 
dressed to  "Comtessa"  (for  Sail  inherited  that  title  from  her 
fatherland  directed  to  "  Mercoill."  perhaps  a  copyist's  slip  for 
•'  Mercuer." 


394  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

10.  p.  loo. — The  following  are  extracts  from  Peirol's  pilgrim 
song  which  has  been  called  (without  justice,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
though  certainly  it  is  fine  and  poetical)  the  best  on  the  crusades 
(Vid.  No.  358,  IV.,  p.  loi):  "  Now  give  I  thanks  to  thee,  true  God 
and  Lord  of  lords,  since  I  have  seen  the  river  Jordan  and  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  because  thou  didst  bestow  upon  me  so  great  an 
honor  as  to  show  me  the  holy  place  where  thou  wast  born  in  the 
flesh,  wherefore  my  heart  is  full  of  joy.  .  .  .  God  give  us  now 
a  good  passage  and  a  good  wind,  good  ship  and  good  helm,  for 
earnestly  do  I  wish  to  return  to  Marseille.  ...  A  poor  sub- 
stitute for  King  Richard  has  the  world  now  !  France  with  its 
lilies  had  an  excellent  king  and  excellent  lords,  Spain  possessed  a 
king  as  valiant,  and  Monferrat  a  good  marquis,  the  empire  a  glori- 
ous emperor, — how  they  will  rule  who  now  occupy  these  places,  I 
know  not.  Fair  Lord  God,  didst  thou  act  according  to  my  judg- 
ment, thou  wouldst  have  a  care  whom  thou  madest  emperor  or 
king,  and  upon  whom  thou  didst  bestow  castles  and  towers,  for 
because  they  are  mighty  they  contemn  thee.  .  .  .  Emperor 
[Frederic  II.],  Damietta  [lost  by  your  fault]  is  waiting  for  you, 
and  day  and  night  the  white  tower  weeps  for  your  eagle  whom  a 
vulture  drove  away, — dastardly  is  the  eagle  that  is  conquered  by 
a  vulture  !  Shame  have  you  for  that  and  the  sultan  has  honor, 
and  besides  the  shame,  you  all  receive  such  hurt  that  our  religion 
suffers." 

11.  P.  100. — -According  to  Jeanroy  the  earliest  piece  by  Peirol 
that  we  can  date  was  composed  at  Vodable  in  1189-1190,  and  he 
remained  there  until  after  1200,  for  it  is  not  until  1210  that  we  find 
him  in  Monferrat.  He  made  his  pilgrimage  about  1221.  Some 
have  thought  he  really  went  to  Palestine  on  the  third  crusade, 
but  as  Jeanroy  says  it  is  more  than  probable  that  he  did  not  go. 
Diez  thought  his  career  began  about  1 180  ;  but  this  date  is  ad- 
vanced by  Restori,  who  places  Sail's  marriage  between  1150  and 
1 160. 

We  have  about  35  pieces  from  Peirol.  He  appears  to  have  com- 
posed stories  as  well  as  poems,  but  these  have  been  lost.  The  order 
of  the  extracts  given  in  the  text  is  arbitrary'.  We  cannot  even  be 
sure  which  of  his  songs  refer  to  Sail  ;  but  it  seems  reasonable  to 
believe,  as  she  was  his  only  high-born  lady  so  far  as  we  know, 
that  his  best  pieces  were  composed  for  her.  The  Monk  said  that 
he  lived  at  Clermont  with  a  serving-woman,  and  an  obscure  stanza 
of  Peirol's  seems  to  support  the  charge  of  low  life.     The  Monk's 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXIX.  395 

"  thirty  years  "  were  an  exaggeration.  Peirol  speaks  of  the  sun 
as  throwing  "  itself  through  the  cold  crystal  with  such  force  as  to 
cause  a  flaming  fire  on  the  other  side  "  ;  so  he  knew  of  burning- 
glasses. 

12.  P.  102. — Pelissier  was  of  Martel.  His  piece,  the  only  one 
he  has  left  us,  was  a  cobla  (stanza)  of  eight  lines.  Comtor  was 
the  daughter  of  Raimon  II.,  and  married  the  lord  of  Comborn. 

13.  P.  102. — The  Dalfin's  cousin  was  Robert,  the  bishop  of  Cler- 
mont (i  195-1227)  and  later  the  archbishop  of  Lyons.  He  was  the 
brother  of  Guion,  who  will  appear  later  in  the  chapter.  The  lady 
in  this  case  was  the  wife  of  Chantart  de  Caulet,  who  lived  at  Pes- 
chadoires,  near  Thiers  (Puy  de  Dome). 

14.  P.  104 — For  Richard's  sirvente,  which  was  in  French,  see 
No.  370,  p.  13.  "  Wolf  and  fox,"  literally  Aengris  and  Rainart, 
from  an  old  tale  ;  "  fawn-colored  hair"  {Hart,  probably  greyish- 
brown),  this  is  the  indication  of  the  family  complexion,  to  which 
an  allusion  was  made  in  the  account  of  the  viscountess  of  Polignac  ; 
Richard's  treasure  was  kept  at  his  strong  castle  of  Chinon, — of 
course  all  this  is  ironical. 

15.  P.  104. — Vid.  No.  358,  IV.,  p.  256.  Richard  was  Philippe's 
vassal  for  his  French  possessions.  I  have  made  some  trifling 
omissions  in  the  translations  in  order  to  disguise  the  identity  of 
the  king  of  England  for  a  time. 

The  Dalfin  had  a  quarrel  also  with  one  of  his  barons,  Bertran  I. 
de  la  Tor,  accusing  him  in  a  poem  sent  by  Mauret,  a  joglar,  of 
abandoning  noble  ambitions  and  settling  down  to  a  life  of  enjoy- 
ment at  home.  To  this  Bertran  replied  in  verse,  quoting  the 
proverb,  "  Like  lord,  like  household,"  and  saying,  "  I  was  good 
[for  something]  when  I  had  a  good  lord." 

In  all  we  have  eight  or  nine  pieces  from  the  Dalfin.  According 
to  Jeanroy  he  began  to  compose  at  the  very  close  of  the  century, 
say  1 199. 

Among  his  knights  were  two  brothers,  Peire  and  Austor  de 
Maensac  (Manzat,  near  Riom).  They  were  poor  but  gifted,  and 
they  agreed  that  one  should  have  their  castle  and  the  other  adopt 
the  profession  of  poet.  Peire  took  the  latter  and  devoted  himself 
to  the  wife  of  Bernart  de  Tierci  (perhaps  Thiers).  So  well  did  he 
please  her  that  she  allowed  hitn  to  carry  her  away  to  a  castle  of  the 
Dalfin's.  Her  husband  tried  to  get  her  back  by  force  and  by  the  aid 
of  the  Church,  but  the  Dalfin  protected  her  and  Peire.     He  is  said 


39^  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

to  have  been  a  good  poet,  as  well  as  an  agreeable  man,  but  probably 
we  bave  none  of  his  verses. 

The  Dalfin's  wife,  called  the  countess  of  Moutferrand,  was  the 
friend  of  P.  de  Capduelh  and  the  mistress  of  Gui  d'Uissel. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

1.  P.  105. — The  Romans  could  not  allow  the  town  of  Gergovia 
to  live  and  thrive  as  the  witness  to  a  Roman  defeat. 

2.  P.  106. — Authorities  differ  as  to  the  early  history  of  N.  D.  du 
Port. 

3.  P.  106. — Enric  is  Proven9al  for  Henry.  To  distinguish  the 
one  from  the  other  I  shall  call  the  father  Henry  and  the  son 
Enric.  The  name  of  Heury  II.  is  so  familiar  that  I  could  not  well 
adhere  to  the  Provencal  form,  but  the  same  difficulty  does  not 
exist  in  the  case  of  his  son. 

4.  P.  107. — Peire  Rogier  seems  to  have  been  a  few  years  the 
junior  of  Peire  d'Alvernhe.  The  limits  of  both  careers  are,  how- 
ever, uncertain. 

5.  P.  107. — The  description  of  Peter  the  Hermit  is  authentic. 

6.  P.  112. — The  essential  character  of  "Gothic"  architecture 
was  due,  of  course,  to  constructional  requirements.  I  refer  here 
to  its  ornamental  features. 

7.  P.  114. — The  obscurity  of  his  verse  is  doubtless  due  in  part  to 
bad  copying  of  the  texts,  but  he  loved  studied  comparisons,  rare 
words,  and  difficult  rhymes.  We  have  over  forty  pieces  from  him, 
the  latest  of  which  (1147)  appears  to  be  the  piece  given  at  the  end 
of  this  chapter.  We  may  suppose  with  P.  Meyer  that  his  career  if 
not  his  life  ended  about  1150.  His  biography  may  come  from  Sain 
Circ. 

8.  P.  115. — Though  so  bitterly  opposed  to  the  gallantries  of 
husbands,  it  is  significant  that  Marcabru  did  not  condemn  married 
women  for  loving,  from  which  we  may  perhaps  infer  that  in  his 
opinion  married  women  would  love  others  only  when  neglected 
by  their  husbands.  We  have  seven  songs  from  him  in  praise  of 
true  love.  His  own  misfortune  is  clearly  expressed  thus  :  "  I  was  a 
simpleton  to  take  service  with  Love,  but  now  have  we  separated.  I 
have  been  joyous  in  love  ;  but  surely  I  shall  be  so  no  more,  for  I 
bave  been  deceived  and  betrayed  and  I  forswear  it  altogether." 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXX.  397 

9.  p.  116. — For  Marcabru's  scoruful  self-assertion  take  these  lines 
quoted  l)y  Diez,  "  I  am  so  shrewd  and  artful  that  nobody  can  easily 
get  the  better  of  me.  I  eat  the  warm,  soft  bread  of  the  fool  and 
let  my  own  cool.  While  the  fool's  bread  lasts  I  assure  him  of  my 
friendship,  but  when  it  is  gone  I  revile  his  bread  and  make  him 
long  for  mine.  ...  1  hunt  in  another's  forest  when  I  will, 
but  my  own  property  lies  so  close  that  no  one  but  myself  can 
enjoy  it." 

ID.  P.  ri6. — Aldric  was  of  Vilar  (probably  Auvillars,  near  Mois 
sac,  Tarn-et-Garonne).     We   have  only  the  sirvente  addressed  to 
Marcabru.     The  name  of  Marcabru's  mother  was  Maria   Bruna. 
As  Jeanroy  says,  Marcabru  was  brought  up  by  "  Public  Charity." 

11.  P.  ii6. — According  to  Suchier's  reading  of  the  text  the  boy 
Marcabru  found  a  home  with  Eble  (II.)  of  Ventadorn,  a  poet  and 
generous  lord  ;  according  to  Chabaueau  he  was  at  Blois  (Bles). 

12.  P.  117. — As  a  poet  Marcabru  belongs  to  the  popular  rather 
than  the  courtly  style.  His  teacher  was  Cercamon  (so  called  be- 
cause he  roamed  over  "  the  whole  world  "  ),  a  Gascon  poet  (1120- 
1135),  from  whom  we  have  four  or  five  pieces,  and  who  is  note- 
w^orth}- as  the  first  in  whose  verse  appears  the  spirit  oi  languishing 
love.  He  wrote  pastorals  but  they  have  been  lost.  Marcabru 
shows  the  influence  of  folk-song, — particularly  in  his  didactic 
vein,  his  fondness  for  refrain,  his  avoidance  of  the  ten-syllable  line, 
and  his  descriptions  of  nature  (Suchier). 

The  following  quotations  are  from  Marcabru:  "There  is  one 
thing  that  excites  mj^  wonder  :  I  see  avarice  and  fraud  budding 
and  blooming  at  all  times.  Wherever  I  go,  I  nowhere  find  courtly 
character,  lofty  conduct,  worth,  propriety,  and  joyousness.  The 
sharp  tongues  of  these  backbiters  (may  God  confound  them  !)  under- 
mine excellence  and  promote  baseness."  "The  young  people  are 
becoming  false  and  treacherous.  Generosity  is  no  more.  It  is  a 
settled  thing  that  propriety  is  disappearing  and  the  mother  and 
daughter  alike  are  governed  by  base  motives."  "  Young-hearted- 
ness  no  longer  exists,  for  two  arrows  have  struck  her:  baseness  and 
covetousness."  "  I  believe  that  the  world  cannot  last  much  longer 
according  to  the  words  of  Scripture,  for  the  son  betrays  the  father, 
the  father  the  son.  Young-heartedness  has  left  the  path  and  is  de- 
stroyed ;  and  generosity,  her  sister,  is  privily  stealing  away."  "  I 
bear  no  song  nor  echo  and  I  see  no  blossoming  branch  ;  but  a 
strange  cry  comes  to  my  ears.     It  is  gladness  lamenting  because 


398  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

she  is  scourged  by  baseness.  Excellence  is  banished  and  the  best 
are  deemed  of  no  account."  "Out  of  thousands  I  find  not  forty 
that  love  excellence.  They  have  besieged  her  in  a  castle  and 
shoot  at  her  with  a  hundred  catapults.  .  .  .  Every  one  cries  : 
'  Fire  and  flame !  Upon  it  !  Into  it  !  Take  her  prisoner !  Let  us 
throw  down  gladness  and  young-heartedness  and  then  excellence 
will  be  done  for.'  " 

"He  that  is  anxious  about  love  dies  verily  of  hunger  and 
cold.  ...  A  fool's  load  indeed  bears  he  that  is  disturbed  by 
love.  Lord  God,  how  unlucky  was  the  birth  of  him  that  is 
nourished  on  such  madness."  "I  will  not  give  over  upbraiding 
husbands  for  their  manifest  offences.  .  .  .  They  resemble  the 
polite  ass  who  took  it  into  his  head  to  play  with  his  master,  seeing 
him  leaping  with  his  dogs."  "  False  friends,  base  lovers,  degrade 
love  and  exalt  crime.  Yet  think  not  that  love  itself  is  becoming 
worse,  for  its  worth  is  as  great  as  ever.  At  all  times  it  has  worn 
true  colors  and  ever  the  same  appearance.  No  man  knows  the 
end  or  the  beginning  of  its  worth."  "So  long  as  good  young- 
heartedness  was  father  of  the  people  and  true  love  their  mother, 
honesty  was  maintained  both  openly  and  secretly  ;  but  now  it  is 
debased  by  nobles,  kings,  and  emperor.  .  .  .  Love,  for  whom 
I  plead,  is  of  noble  descent."  "  Whoso  will  lodge  love  in  sincerity 
must  bestrew  his  dwelling  with  courtliness.  Folly  and  boasting 
let  him  cast  out.  For  servants  he  must  have  blameless  worth  and 
generosity."  "O  true  love,  source  of  good!  While  thou  dost 
illuminate  all  the  world,  I  pray  thee  for  favor  against  the  torment 
[of  hell], — protect  me,  that  I  never  dwell  therein."  "Never  will 
I  believe,  though  one  make  oath  of  it,  that  wine  comes  not  from 
the  cluster  and  that  a  man  is  not  made  better  by  love." 

13.  P.  119. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  96.  Lozoic  inline  26  is  the  Proven- 
gal  form  of  Louis  (VII.).     A  literal  translation  is  as  follows  : 

"  I.  At  the  fountain  of  the  orchard,  where  the  grass  is  green  by 
the  gravel  in  the  shade  of  a  cultivated  tree  amid  the  comfort  of 
white  flowers  and  of  the  new  wonted  song,  I  found  alone  without 
companion  her  who  has  not  wished  my  company.  2.  It  was  a  young 
lady  of  beautiful  person,  daughter  of  a  castle's  lord  ;  and  when  I 
thought  that  the  birds  and  verdure  gave  her  joy  and  that  she  would 
listen  to  my  address  because  of  the  sweet  new  season,  soon  was 
her  concern  changed.  3.  From  her  eyes  she  wept  by  the  fountain, 
and  deeply  from  her  heart  she  sighed.     'Jesus,  king  of  the  world,' 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXI.  399 

she  said,  '  through  you  grows  upon  me  my  great  grief ;  for  your 
dishonor  overwhelms  me,  for  the  best  of  all  this  world  go  to  serve 
you — but  it  pleases  you.  4.  With  you  goes  away  my  friend,  the 
fair  and  the  graceful,  the  noble  and  the  mighty  ;  therefore  there 
is  left  to  me  the  great  grief,  the  oft  longing,  and  the  tears.  Oh 
accursed  be  King  Louis,  who  causes  the  summons  and  the  preach- 
ings, on  account  of  which  the  pain  is  entered  into  my  heart.'  5. 
When  I  heard  her  lamenting,  I  came  toward  her  to  the  clear 
stream.  'Fair  one,'  said  I,  'through  too  nmch  crying  features 
and  color  suffer.  And  there  is  no  need  of  your  despairing,  for  He 
that  makes  the  forest  leave  can  satisfy  you  with  joy.'  6.  'Sir,' 
said  she,  '  well  do  I  believe  that  God  will  have  pity  on  me  forever 
in  the  other  world,  as  on  many  another  sinner  ;  but  here  He  takes 
from  me  that  thing  out  of  which  grew  my  joy.  But  He  counts  me 
of  little  worth  and  far  has  He  removed  Himself  from  me.'  " 

The  reader  has  not  failed,  I  am  sure,  to  remark  the  simple 
structure  of  this  piece,  in  comparison  with  the  work  of  later  poets. 

The  crusade  preached  at  Clermont  was  the  first  (1096),  the  one 
to  which  the  quotation  from  Peirol  referred  was  the  third  (i  190), 
and  the  one  that  gave  rise  to  Marcabru's  poem  was  the  second 
(1147).  This  second  crusade  was  not  popular  in  the  Midi,  but  it  is 
not  quite  true,  as  has  been  said,  that  Marcabru's  is  the  only 
troubadour  song  upon  it. 

CHAPTER   XXXI. 

1.  P.  120. — About  the  year  1000  there  were  onlj-  a  million  free 
people  in  all  France  (Kitchen). 

2.  P.  120. — All  the  names  in  this  chapter  are  fictitious  except 
Montpellier,  Limoges,  Aries,  and  such  well-known  places.  I  wished 
to  lay  out  an  actual  route,  but  did  not  succeed  in  finding  one  that 
combined  within  a  suitable  space  all  the  features  I  desired  to  in- 
troduce. The  time  is  supposed  to  be  toward  the  close  of  the 
twelfth  century. 

3.  P.  121. — The  free-lances  (routiers)  were  a  fearful  scourge,  es- 
pecially in  Limousin,  Poitou,  and  Gascony.  They  were  mostly 
men  of  Brabant  (or  at  least  the  mercenaries  commonly  known  as 
Brabantines),  Navarre,  Aragon,  and  the  Basque  districts,  to  whom 
desperate  characters  nearer  home  joined  themselves.  The  unset- 
tled condition  of  the  country  was  a  general  cause  for  their  exist- 


400  The  Tr()ul)a(l()iii's  :it  Home 

ence,  but  there  was  a  special  cause:  viz.,  a  lord  or  a  king  (r._^. 
Henrj'  II.  or  Richard)  would  hire  a  baud  of  mercenaries  for  a  term 
of  service  and  at  the  end  of  the  term  discharge  them.  It  was  very- 
natural  for  such  troops  to  retain  their  organization,  move  a  little 
way  off  and  live  upon  the  country.  Castles  of  moderate  strength 
were  often  captured  by  such  bands,  and  even  strong  towns  feared 
them.  Merchaderius,  the  famous  captain  who  was  with  Richard  I. 
at  Chalus,  was  a  leader  of  such  freebooters.  All  the  strength  of 
lords  and  prelates,  the  terrors  of  the  sword  and  of  excommunica- 
tion were  unable  to  end  the  scourge  ;  but  finally  Durand,  a  car- 
penter of  Auvergne,  announcing  to  the  bishop  of  Le  Puy  that  he 
had  been  commissioned  by  God  to  save  the  country  from  this  ter- 
ror, excited  a  popular  uprising.  A  confraternity,  distinguished  by 
a  linen  hood,  was  established,  and  by  ruthless  means  they  quelled 
the  routiers.  Many  of  these  lawless  characters  enlisted  under 
Montfort.     They  were  at  their  worst  about  1140-1160. 

4.  P.  122. — The  fair-ground  described  in  the  text  is  that  of 
Beaucaire,  where  a  fair  has  been  held  annually  for  a  thousand 
years.  The  view  of  Rene's  castle  across  the  Rhone  in  Tarascon, 
shown  in  Chapter  I.,  was  taken  from  this  spot.  Though  shorn  of 
much  of  its  glory  now,  this  fair,  as  Millin  testifies,  was  still  a  great 
institution  in  the  early  part  of  the  present  century.  The  fairs  of 
Beaucaire,  of  Troyes,  and  of  St.  Denis  (the  famous  Lendit,  or 
rather  L'Endit,  held  near  the  abbey,  June  11-14)  were  the  most 
noted  of  France. 

5.  P.  123. — All  the  commerce  of  the  south  came  to  be  regulated 
by  the  Consolato  del  Mare,  while  that  of  the  north  obeyed  the 
Ivois  d'Oleron  and  the  Ordinances  of  Wisby,  so  that  trade  was 
better  controlled  than  one  might  at  first  think.  The  merchants  of 
Languedoc  elected  a  captain-general  to  protect  their  interests  at 
certain  fairs  of  northern  France. 

6.  P.  124. — Six-thread  silks,  ornamented  with  gold  and  gems, 
were  made  at  Palermo  in  1189,  and  fine  silks  were  manufactured 
in  France  also  during  the  twelfth  ceutur}-.  Cisclaton  was  not 
always  red. 

7.  P.  125. — There  were  sixteen  needle  factories  at  Paris  in  1292, 
and  the  pin-makers  were  important  as  early  as  1268;  so  that  we 
may  suppose  these  articles  were  made  and  exported  long  before. 

8.  P.  125. — The  secret  of  the  lead  enamel  passed  from  the 
Greeks  to  the  Romans  and  from  them  to  the  Gauls.    In  the  twelfth 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXI.  401 

century  the  pottery  business  had  become  enormously  developeil  in 
France. 

9.  P.  125. — E.g.  a  mark  weighed  226.28  grammes  at  Limoges, 
but  239.11  grammes  at  Montpellier.  One  pound  =  two  marks  or 
twenty  soits  ;  one  sou  =  twelve  deniets  ;  one  detiier  =  twenty- 
four  oboles  ;  but  in  the  time  of  Philippe  Auguste  the  pound  came 
to  be  divided  into  twenty-four  sous  (each  weighing  13.356 
grammes)  ;  but  sou,  detiier,  and  obole  were  names  of  values  rather 
than  coins.  In  1060  an  ox  was  worth  five  sous,  a  horse  twenty, 
and  a  mule  thirty.  7000  sous  of  the  Melgueil  mint  were  sufficient 
dowry  for  the  daughter  of  a  great  noble.  Gold  was  from  ten  to 
twelve-and-one-half  times  as  valuable  as  silver.  Gold  first  became 
common  during  the  reign  of  St.  Louis. 

10.  P.  126. — These  hawkers  existed  at  Paris,  and  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have  existe<l  elsewhere. 

11.  P.  127. — To  be  whipped  naked  through  the  streets  was  the 
punishment  for  adultery  at  Montpellier.  The  other  usages  at- 
tributed to  that  city  were  in  force  either  very  soon  after  1200  or 
already  before  that  date. 

12.  P.  128. — Though  the  citizens  of  the  towns  elected  their  own 
magistrates,  the  government  was  not  a  democracy.  The  plebs 
usually  had  little  or  no  voice,  and  the  power  rested  with  the  city 
nobility  and  the  burgher  notables.  The  cities — e.  g.  Beziers, 
Montpellier,  Nismes,  Marseille,  Narboune,  etc. — were  personal- 
ities, as  corporations  are  now,  occupying  the  place  of  feudal  lords, 
with  their  suzerain  and  perhaps  their  vassals.  It  had  not  been 
difficult  for  the  cities  of  southern  France  to  gain  this  emancipa- 
tion ;  for  the  lords  saw  that  the  strict  feudal  regime  hindered  com- 
mercial and  industrial  development,  and  therefore  was  opposed  to 
their  own  interest.  We  find  such  free  cities  there  from  the 
eleventh  century.  This  system  extended  as  far  north  as  the 
mountains  of  Auvergne  and  Limousin  ;  above  Orleans  the  system 
was  that  of  the  "  sworn  commune." 

13.  P.  128. — At  Paris  five  guilds  or  corporations  were  well  estab- 
lished in  1160.  These  organizations  were  to  a  considerable  extent 
persons,  and  could  buy,  sell,  and  hold  property. 

14.  P.  128. — Prostitutes  had  a  distinctive  dress  almost  every- 
where. At  Aries,  for  example,  they  were  not  allowed  to  wear 
veils.  All  these  "signs  of  infamy"  appear  .soon  after  1200,  but 
probably  existed  earlier. 


402  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

15.  p.  1 28. — Most  serfs  were  born  thralls  ;  others  became  such  : 
I,  by  marrying  a  serf;  2,  by  living  on  servile  lands;  3,  by  war; 
4,  in  punishment  either  for  their  lord's  crime  or  their  own.  A 
notable  part  of  the  population  of  the  fields  remained  servile  to  the 
end  of  the  thirteenth  century.  Household  serfs  were  considered 
inferior  to  those  in  the  fields.  In  some  parts  of  the  Midi  there 
was  actual  slavery.  A  peasant-serf  was  attached  to  the  laud,  and 
while  that  could  not  be  taken  from  him  or  his  heir,  he  and  it  could 
be  sold  or  given  away  together  ;  while,  although  the  free  peasant 
(really  a  tenant-farmer)  did  not  own  his  land  (though  he  could  dis- 
pose of  his  rights  in  it),  and  paid  dues  for  the  use  of  it,  neither  he 
nor  it  could  be  sold  away.  L,uchaire  specifies  about  forty  kinds  of 
dues  to  which  peasants  were  liable.  Serfs  were  seldom  enfran- 
chised except  at  a  high  price. 

16.  P.  130. — There  were  taverns  in  many  towns,  but  they  appear 
to  have  been  dirty,  noisy,  and  often  of  bad  repute.  Travellers  of 
quality — and  others — lodged  at  the  castles  or  the  monasteries. 

17.  P.  130. — Such  a  set  of  hangings  was  actually  ordered  in  1133 
by  the  abbot  of  St.  Florent 

18.  P.  133. — Initiations  into  knighthood  occurred  usually  about 
Easter,  Ascension  Day,  Pentecost  (about  the  last  of  May),  or  St. 
John's  Day  (late  in  June).  The  candidate  was  between  the  ages  of 
15  and  21.  The  rites  of  chivalry,  sprung  from  a  German  custom 
as  old  as  Tacitus,  were  originally  simple,  even  rude,  and  without 
symbolism.  At  our  period  they  were  intermediate  in  character 
between  the  earlier  and  the  later  character,  the  church  having 
asserted  a  voice  in  the  matter  from  the  time  of  the  Truce  of  God, 
about  the  middle  of  the  eleventh  century. 

19.  P.  133. — As  a  rule  donjons  of  the  twelfth  century  were  square 
and  those  of  the  thirteenth  century  round,  but  the  rule  has  excep- 
tions. The  floors  of  halls  were  sometimes  covered  with  straw  in 
winter — Philippe  Auguste's  palace,  for  example. 

20.  P.  136. — People  sometimes  washed  their  hands,  in  the  order 
of  rank,  at  fountains  or  jets  outside  the  entrance  to  the  hall; 
sometimes  the  servants  carried  ewers,  basins,  and  towels  from  guest 
to  guest,  pouring  the  water  from  the  ewer  upon  their  hands  and 
catching  it  in  the  basin.  In  the  poem  on  Girart  de  Rossillon,  for 
example,  the  usual  formula  is  "they  called  for  water"  to  wash 
with. 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXI.  403 

21.  P.  137,— The  work  of  the  castle  was  done  by  serfs,  free 
household  servants,  free  artisans  living  in  or  near  the  castle,  en- 
forced levies  (corvees)  of  vassals,  and  in  certain  cases — as  already 
shown — esquires. 

22.  P.  13S. — A  writer  in  No.  23  has  said,  "The  most  sumptuous 
official  banquets  of  to-day  are  very  tame  and  very  modest  compared 
to  the  great  feasts  of  the  Middle  Ages. "  According  to  Paul  Meyer  : 
"The  splendor  of  fetes  about  which  we  know  astonishes  the 
imagination." 

23.  P.  139.— Amanieu  de  Sescas  (St.  Martin-de-Sescas  near  La 
Reole,  Gironde)  was  the  author  of  two  extant  love-epistles  and 
two  ensetihamens  (instructive  poems),  one  of  them  for  a  young 
man,  the  other  for  a  young  woman.  He  was  probably  at  work 
in  1280. 

24.  P.  140. — The  rule  about  taking  small  morsels,  etc.,  is  from 
"  Castoiemcnt  que  Ic  peres  ensaigne  ii  son  fils,'"  written  originally 
in  Latin,  by  a  Spanish  Jew  in  the  twelfth  century.  "Etiquette 
books"  were  numerous. 

25.  P.  140. — Hugues,  canon  of  St.  Victor  at  Paris,  died  in  1141. 

26.  Pp.  141  and  144.— Mediaeval  "tennis"  (jeti  de  paume)  d\{- 
fered  considerably,  of  course,  from  the  present  game  of  that  name, 
and  the  same  is  true  of  backgammon. 

27.  P.  144. — Bartholomew  of  Glanvilla  (No.  61)  specified  as  the 
requisites  for  a  fine  supper:  i,  a  suitable  hour,  neither  early  nor 
late  ;  2,  a  safe,  pleasant,  and  ample  space  ;  3,  an  air  of  good  humor 
and  liberality  on  the  part  of  the  host  ;  4,  a  plenty  of  viands,  so 
that  the  guest  might  please  his  taste  ;  5,  a  variety  of  drinks  ; 
6,  willing  servants  ;  7,  agreeable  and  friendly  company  ;  8,  pleas- 
ant music  ;  9,  a  plenty  of  lights  ;  10,  delicate  and  fine  cooking  ; 
II,  a  seasonable  conclusion  ;  12,  quiet  and  repose  afterward. 

28.  P.  144. — The  first  romance  on  Alexander  was  composed  in 
southeastern  France  during  the  first  half  of  the  twelfth  century  by 
a  certain  Alberic,  who  with  those  who  followed  him  eliminated, 
by  the  aid  of  the  Latin  historians,  some  of  the  fables  that  had 
gathered  about  his  name,  but  to  please  their  audiences  made  him 
over  into  a  feudal  prince.  His  name  and  fame  were  familiar  to 
the  lettered  before  the  romancers  took  him  up. 

29.  P.  145. — The  story  of  Tristan  and  Yseult  was  a  great  favorite; 
six  troubadours  mention  it.     Of  the  Grecian  heroes  Ulvsses  was 


404  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

not  sentimental  enough  to  be  really  popular.  Though  Homer 
was  hardly  known  except  by  name,  the  Trojan  war  was  a  familiar 
theme,  information  being  derived  from  an  account  pretending  to 
come  from  an  eye-witness.  Of  course  all  the  classical  stories  were 
curiously  distorted. 

30.  P.  147. — To  "  pick  and  rub  the  teeth  with  something  bitter — 
gentian,  sage,  or  the  bark  of  peach,  alder,  or  olive,  for  example 
.  .  .  preserves  the  teeth,  helps  the  tongue  to  speak,  purges  the 
head  of  phlegm,  keeps  the  sight  clear  and  fair,  and  makes  neck, 
arms,  and  buttocks  thicker  and  fleshlier."     Vid.  No.  421. 

31.  P.  147. — In  summer  the  perfumes  of  rose,  violet,  and  lily, 
and  in  winter  those  of  musk,  aloes,  balsam,  and  the  like,  were 
thought  not  only  to  cheer  the  heart,  but  to  "sharpen  the  wits, 
make  the  blood  course  through  the  veins,  and  cause  the  skin  to 
shine." 

32.  P.  148. — The  Sortes  Apostoloruin  was  a  device  for  consulting 
auguries.  A  specimen  has  been  discovered.  It  consists  of  56 
sentences  on  a  sheet  of  parchment,  with  a  colored  string  attached 
to  each  and  carried  to  the  margin.  It  was  very  common  also  to 
learn  the  will  of  heaven  by  opening  the  Bible  at  random  for  a 
text.     See  No.  76,  XLL,  p.  465. 

33.  P.  148. — Breakfast  was  usually  at  from  6  to  9  according  to 
the  season,  dinner  about  i,  and  supper  from  6  to  7,  but  the  hours 
varied.  Time  was  usually  indicated  by  the  church  or  monastery 
bells,  thus  :  matins  at  midnight,  lauds  —  about  3  o'clock,  primes 
=  about  6  o'clock,  tierces  =  about  9  o'clock,  sextes  =  noon, 
nones  =  about  3  o'clock,  vespers  =  about  6  o'clock,  complines  = 
about  9  o'clock.  As  the  Breviary  of  Love  informs  us,  the  hour 
(/.  e.,  one  twelfth  of  the  time  from  sunrise  to  sunset)  was  divided 
into  four  points,  the  point  into  ten  moments,  and  the  moment 
into  twelve  onces.  The  monk  who  rang  the  bells  at  night  relied 
upon  the  stars,  the  burning  down  of  candles,  the  number  of  prayers 
he  had  repeated,  etc.  Water-clocks  were  known,  and  some  could 
strike.     Sun-dials  were  common. 

34.  P.  148. — We  must  not  imagine  that  everything  was  splendid 
about  a  castle,  and  everything  grand  in  the  daily  life  of  the  men 
who  bore  titles.  The  great  Philippe  Auguste  of  France,  says 
Lacroix,  though  he  spent  millions  on  armor,  horses,  crossbow 
bolts,  and  machines  of  war,  had  a  very  small  household, — a  chan- 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXII.  405 

cellor,  a  chaplain,  a  butler,  an  esquire,  a  few  Templars,  and  some 
meu-at-arms.  His  children  had  new  suits  of  clothes  only  thrice  a 
year.  And  while  he  could  appear  on  state  occasions  in  brave 
finery,  his  good  robe  was  immediately  taken  off,  folded  up,  and 
put  away  in  a  chest   for  the  next  occasion. 

This  chapter — though  of  course  a  mere  outline — is  based  upon 
a  great  number  and  variety  of  sources,  but  every  item — from  the 
elm  tree  in  the  town  square  to  the  dog  under  the  lord's  bed — rests 
on  good  authority.  It  should  be  remembered,  however,  that  au- 
thorities are  incomplete  and  differ,  and  of  course  usages  varied,  so 
that  pictures  unlike  this  one  in  a  number  of  details  might  be 
equally  correct.  All  the  stories  were  current  during  the  trouba- 
dour period  ;  the  conversation  between  Sir  Jaufre  and  Brunessen 
is  adapted  from  the  ronian  oi  Jau/re,  etc.  It  is  well,  perhaps,  to 
remind  the  student  that  much  of  our  information  about  this  period 
comes  from  poems,  and  there  is  danger  of  taking  these  too  literally. 
"Never,"  says  Jeanroy,  "did  fiction  enjoy  such  favor,  and  it 
would  seem  that  the  boldness,  the  improbability,  of  the  inventions 
were  the  measure  of  their  success." 

A  bibliography  of  works  on  mediaeval  life  may  be  found  in  No. 
23,  LXIIL,  p.  241. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

1.  P.  151. — Ventadour  is  the  modern,  Ventadorn  the  medieval 
name. 

2.  P.  156. — The  descriptions  of  Eble,  his  wife,  and  Bemart  are 
imaginary  (except  that  Margarida  appears  to  have  had  a  fine  figure, 
smiling  lips,  and  beautiful  eyes  I — and  so  of  course  are  the  cavalcade, 
the  furnishing  of  the  lady's  boudoir,  her  dress,  and  the  scene  be- 
tween her  and  Bernart.  I  am  not  the  first  to  discover  signs  that 
she  and  the  viscount  were  not  on  the  best  of  terms. 

3.  P.  159. — Suchier  thinks  that  Bernart  began  to  compose  be- 
tween 1 148  and  1 150  ;  but  he  was  a  master  of  the  art  before  1150 
and  it  seems  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he  began  to  practise  it 
considerably  earlier.  "We  may  suppose  that  he  was  born  about 
1125-1128. 

4.  P.  159. — The  viscountess  was  Margarida  of  Torena  (Turenne) 
■who  had  for  her  first  husband  Aimar  IV.,  viscount  of  Limoges  (who 
died  in  1148),  and  for  her  second,  Eble  III.,  viscount  of  Ventadorn 


4o6  The   1  roiiljacloiirs  at  Home 

(who  married  her  in  1 14S  aud  repudiated  her  iu  1 150).  She  gave  Eble 
a  daughter  shortly  before  he  repudiated  her.  Margarida  had  three 
nieces,  daughters  of  Bosou  II.,  viscount  of  Torena,  who  were  fa- 
mous in  troubadour  annals.  One  was  Maria  de  Ventadorn.  An- 
other was  Maeut,  wife  of  the  lord  of  Montanhac,  to  whom  Bertran 
de  Born  paid  court. 

5.  P.  161. — It  may  be  thought  that  the  furnishing  of  the  apart- 
ment would  be  more  iu  keeping  with  the  luxury  of  the  next  gen- 
eration. That  would  not  detract  from  the  value  of  the  description, 
for  my  object  is  to  give  a  picture  of  the  troubadour  age  in  general. 
But  I  think  it  fair  to  suppose  that  Ventadorn  was  more  beautifully 
and  richly  furnished  than  other  castles  of  the  region,  for  the 
former  lord,  Eble  II.,  was  rich,  liberal,  and  progressive.  We  must 
remember,  too,  that  the  Midi  was  much  farther  advanced  in  re- 
finement and  luxury  than  northern  France,  from  which,  rather 
than  from  the  Midi,  our  data  are  mostly  derived.  vStill  further,  we 
know  that  one  of  the  great  arteries  of  commerce  with  the  Orient 
lay  not  far  away,  aud  that  Limoges  and  Poitiers,  both  of  them 
near  Ventadorn,  had  already  been  long  the  seats  of  fine  industrial 
art.  During  the  12th  and  13th  centuries  the  jewelry  of  Limoges, 
particularly  the  gilding  and  enamel,  went  all  over  France  ;  and  at 
Poitiers  were  made  tapestries  that  were  famous  as  early  as  1025, 
for  we  find  an  Italian  bishop  writing  at  that  time  to  the  count  of 
Poitou  for  a  piece  of  this  work.  Emeric-David  says  these  tapes- 
tries were  adorned  with  the  figures  of  kings  and  emperors,  animals 
and  persons  from  pious  histories.  According  to  a  MS.  of  Erecand 
Enide,  Limoges,  too,  had  a  tapestry  loom  in  the  12th  century  ;  the 
tapestries  were  probably  a  sort  of  embroidery.  Even  a  slight  in- 
vestigation will  satisfy  any  one  that  the  skill  of  this  period  has 
been  underestimated.  De  Farcy  says  of  it  :  "Z^  dessin  s'est  per- 
fedionne ;  a-t-on  jamais  inanie  le  pinceaii,  le  burin  ou  le  ciseau 
avec  tant  de  hardiesse  et  d'energie?  On  reste  confondti  devant 
certaiues  lettres  historiees  des  bibles  et  des  missels ;  I' eclat  des 
splendides  verreries  de  cette  cpoque,  Pharniotiie  de  leurs  coitlenrs, 
dkpasse  tout  ce  qui  s^  est  fait  par  la  suite  ;  que  dire  de  la  sculpture, 
de  forfhvrcrie,  de  ces  merveilleuses  pommes  JiligranSes  et 
hnaillees  des  chasses  et  des  reliquairesf''  It  should  be  remem- 
bered that  the  contact  of  the  crusaders  from  1099  on  with  Byzan- 
tine elegance  and  luxury  stinmlated  powerfully  the  tendency 
toward  luxury  that  prevailed  in  France.     Finally,  we  should  bear 


Notes  on  ChapttM-  XXXI  I.  407 

in  iriind  that,  as  A.  Leroux  says,  I.iiiiousiu  enjoyed  a  much  more 
settled  peace  than  the  regions  about  it  until  the  quarrels  of  Henry 
11.  and  his  sons  bei;an.  But  we  nmst,  on  the  other  hand,  beware 
of  couceding  too  much.  The  best  skill  of  the  troubadour  time 
was,  after  all,  rude  and  circumscribed.  Conventional  flowers,  for 
example,  were  not  superseded  by  flowers  drawn  after  nature  until 
about  1200,  and  up  to  about  the  same  time  chairs  and  cabinets 
were  made  by  the  men  who  made  doors — the  finer  art  of  joinery 
was  unknown. 

No  feature  of  the  description  of  the  boudoir  is  without  a  basis. 
For  instance,  the  mosaic  is  a  copy  of  one  of  the  12th  century,  pre- 
served in  the  Musee  de  Cluny,  except  that  I  have  changed  the 
saint  for  one  better  known  in  Limousin  ;  and  the  pillars  and 
plaques  are  from  the  poem  on  Oirart  de  Rossillon.  We  learn 
from  the  same  poem  that  gold  mosaics  were  known  in  France  from 
a  very  early  period. 

It  is  interesting  to  contrast  with  the  comparative  peace,  luxury, 
and  culture  of  southern  France  the  condition  of  England  at  the 
same  time.  The  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle  says  of  the  period  of 
Stephen's  reign  (1153):  "The  ancient  martyrs  were  not  so  ill 
treated,  for  they  [the  nobles]  hanged  men  by  the  thumbs  or  by 
the  head  and  smoked  them  with  foul  smoke.  They  put  knotted 
strings  about  their  heads  and  twisted  them  till  they  bit  into  the 
brain.  Thev  put  them  in  dungeons  with  adders  and  toads,  or  shut 
them  into  close  boxes  filled  with  sharp  stones,  and  pressed  them 
there  till  their  bones  were  broken.  Many  thousands  they  killed 
with  hunger  and  torment,  and  that  lasted  the  nineteen  winters 
while  Stephen  was  king.  In  those  days  if  three  or  four  men  came 
riding  toward  a  town,  all  the  town  fled  hastily  before  them, 
believing  them  to  be  robbers." 

6.  P.  162. — The  conversation  is  imaginary. 

7.  P.  165. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  56.  The  poem  contains  seven  stanzas, 
but  so  long  a  piece  would  not  suit  the  circumstances  of  the  text 
(in  later  times  the  love-song  contained  by  rule  only  five  stanzas). 
The  omitted  stanzas  (3  and  5)  are  as  follows  :  "  I  have  never  had 
control  of  myself,  nor  have  I  been  my  own  from  the  hour  when 
she  let  me  see  [myself]  in  her  eyes  [as]  in  a  mirror  that  delights 
me  ;  mirror,  since  I  have  mirrored  myself  in  thee,  deep  sighs  have 
killed  me,  for  I  have  lost  myself  as  did  the  fair  Narcissus  in  the 
fountain.     In  this  my  lady  shows  herself  indeed  a  woman — where- 


4o8  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

fore  I  recount  it — that  she  will  not  what  she  should,  and  what  is 
forbidden  does  ;  I  have  fallen  into  harsh  mercy  and  I  have  indeed 
been  doing  like  the  fool  on  the  bridge  [/.  e.,  idly  dancing  (?)]  ;  and 
I  know  not  why  this  befalls  me  imless  I  have  risen  too  high  in 
[lit.  against]  the  world."  There  is  a  tornada  of  four  lines  ad- 
dressed to  Tristan,  again  forswearing  love  and  announcing  his 
departure. 

It  seems  very  probable  that  "  Tristan  "  was  a  name  for  the  vis- 
countess, and  that  the  song  was  actually  composed  under  circum- 
stances like  those  suggested  in  the  text.  The  first  stanza  of  this 
piece  is  perhaps  the  finest  bit  in  all  Provencal  literature.  It  is 
literally  as  follows  :  "  When  I  see  the  lark  move  her  wings  against 
the  sunbeam  so  that  she  forgets  herself  and  lets  herself  fall  be- 
cause of  the  sweetness  that  goes  to  her  heart, — ah  !  so  great  envy 
comes  to  me  of  whomsoever  I  see  rejoicing  that  it  is  a  wonder  to 
me  that  my  heart  does  not  burst  at  once  for  longing." 

The  music  of  the  piece  is,  like  nearly  all  my  specimens  of  trouba- 
dour music,  from  Restori,  whose  recent  investigations  have  thrown 
into  the  shade  all  previously  done  in  this  department.  It  comes 
from  MS.  X,  dating  from  about  1200.  In  the  form  taken  from  this 
MS.  lines  6  and  7  are  given  but  seven  notes  ;  to  obtain  eight  I 
have  broken  the  four  sixteenth-notes  of  line  6  into  two  groups, 
and  have  taken  line  7  from  the  text  of  MS.  W,  which  is  not  quite 
so  old  as  X.  In  rendering  the  specimens  of  troubadour  music  one 
may  ignore  the  accents  of  the  measure  for  in  the  originals  there 
were  no  bars. 

8.  P.  166. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  55.  The  piece  contains  seven  stan- 
zas, but  I  have  shortened  this  for  the  same  reason  as  the  other. 
The  omitted  stanzas  (5  and  6)  are  As  follows  :  "  O  God,  would  that 
true  lovers  were  distinguishable  from  false,  and  that  liars  and 
traitors  bore  horns  on  their  foreheads  !  All  the  gold  of  the  world 
and  all  the  silver  would  I  have  given,  if  I  had  it,  simply  that  my 
lady  might  understand  how  truly  I  love  her.  When  I  catch  sight 
of  her,  it  appears  in  my  eyes,  my  look,  my  color,  for  I  tremble 
with  fear  as  doth  the  leaf  against  the  wind  ;  I  am  so  overcome  with 
love  that  I  have  not  sense  enough  for  a  child,  and  a  lady  may 
[well]  have  great  compassion  on  a  man  so  vanquished."  There  is 
also  a  tornada  of  three  lines  addressed  to  Cortes,— possibly  the 
viscountess,  more  probably  Eleanor,  possibly  some  one  else.  St. 
4,  1.  3  :   "ten  times  an  hour,"  lit.  "  a  hundred  times  a  day  "  ;  st.  3, 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXII.  409 

].  I  :  the  "ring"  is  not  in  the  original,  but  it  is  easy  to  suppose 
that  like  other  lovers  even  partially  accepted  Bernart  had  been 
given  this  token  ;  if  so,  he  would  naturally  swear  by  it  in  such  a 
case.  Note  the  playfulness  of  the  last  two  lines.  I  have  repeated 
the  rhj'me  "blest"  as  Bernart  repeated  ''amor.''  Observe  the 
peculiar  play  of  the  rhymes,  two  moving  back  and  forth  from 
stanza  to  stanza  while  the  other  two  hold  their  places.  Note  also 
that  the  former  are  related  in  sound  ( — ing  :  — ence)  as  they  are  in 
the  original  (  — ati  :  — en). 

9.  P.  167. — Bernart's  words,  except  those  in  brackets,  are  from 
his  poems. 

10.  P.  168. — It  has  been  conjectured  by  Diez  that  the  cause  of 
Bernart's  first  dismissal  was  a  song  in  which  he  asked  for  a  kiss. 
He  continued  to  address  songs  to  her  from  a  distance,  until  soft- 
ened by  his  devotion  Margarida  seems  to  have  recalled  him  and  to 
have  given  him  the  kiss. 

11.  P.  171. — The  scene  between  Bernart  and  the  viscountess  I 
have  attempted  with  great  hesitation  for  several  reasons,  but  the 
book  would  have  been  incomplete  without  some  explanation  of  the 
way  the  ladies  felt  ;  and  I  wished  to  show  rather  than  describe,  if 
I  could,  their  state  of  mind.  Possibly  I  have  made  Margarida  too 
imaginative  to  be  typical,  but  certainly  not  too  emotional,  as  any 
one  who  has  read  Flanienca  will  testify.  I  am  indebted  to 
Flametica  for  her  feudal  conceptions,  but  I  have  endeavored  to 
allow  for  the  later  date  of  the  poem.  Neither  have  I  overdrawn 
Bernart's  emotions,  but  the  opposite.  In  Flanienca  we  see  the 
lover  tremble,  shiver,  gape,  sob,  moan,  and  faint  ;  nor  were  these 
emotions  always  feigned,  as  one  might  suppose  from  the  unsym- 
pathetic way  in  which  they  are  discussed  in  scientific  studies  of 
this  literature.  Compare  what  Dante  wrote  in  the  New  Life :  "  I 
seemed  to  feel  a  wonderful  tremor  begin  in  my  breast  on  the  left 
side,  and  extend  suddenly  through  all  the  parts  of  my  body.  Then 
I  say  that,  dissembling,  I  leaned  against  a  painting  which  ran 
around  the  wall  of  this  house,  and,  fearing  lest  my  trembling 
should  be  observed  by  others,  I  lifted  my  eyes  and  looking  at  the 
ladies  saw  amongst  them  the  most  gentle  Beatrice." 

Bernart,  in  one  of  his  poems,  refers  to  a  certain  pine  tree  (per- 
haps the  one  that  I  have  supposed  to  stand  in  the  garden)  as  as- 
sociated with  his  lady's  yielding  to  him,  but  the  scene  in  the 
boudoir  might  have  occurred  first. 


4IO  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

12.  P.  171. — I  do  not  recall  that  any  one  has  suggested  before 
that  Bernart's  father  may  really  have  been  Eble  II.,  but  it  seems 
a  reasonable  conjecture. 

Of  this  Eble's  poetry  we  have  nothing,  but  Geoffroi  de  Vigeois 
tells  a  story  that  gives  us  an  idea  of  his  character.  One  day  he 
appeared  in  the  castle  hall  of  his  lord,  Guilhem  IX.,  the  trouba- 
dour-duke of  Aquitaine,  when  the  latter  was  at  table.  A.  bountiful 
repast  was  served  him,  but  not  without  considerable  delay  ;  and 
Eble,  who  was  on  a  footing  of  intimacy  with  the  duke,  rallied  him 
jocosely  on  the  commotion  it  made  in  his  establishment  to  pro- 
vide a  meal  even  for  "  a  little  viscount"  like  himself.  Not  long 
afterward  the  duke  presented  himself  with  a  company  in  the  hall 
of  Ventadorn  at  meal  time.  But  Eble  was  not  embarrassed  ;  and, 
while  he  was  having  water  brought  for  bis  guests  to  wash,  his 
servants  went  out  (for  a  country  fair  chanced  to  be  on)  and  with- 
out loss  of  time  had  so  many  eatables  ready  that  it  seemed  as  if 
they  had  long  been  preparing  for  the  wedding  of  some  prince.  In 
the  evening  a  peasant  (for  evidently  Eble  was  a  popular  lord) 
drove  into  the  yard  with  a  wagon  full  of  fine  cakes  of  wax,  and 
after  calling  upon  the  duke's  men  to  see  how  things  were  done  at 
the  castle  of  Ventadorn,  dumped  the  precious  load  on  the  ground 
and  drove  away  as  if  it  were  an  everyday  occurrence.  The  duke 
went  home  greatly  impressed  in  Eble's  favor,  and  Eble  gave  the 
peasant  an  estate  in  perpetuity,— an  act  of  notable  significance  in 
an  age  when  the  ownership  of  land  was  about  equivalent  to  a 
patent  of  nobility. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

1.  P.  175. — The  same  can  indeed  be  said  of  no  other  dialect  of 
the  Midi  (Chabaneau)  ;  still  the  view  that  the  tongue  of  the  trouba- 
dours was  Ivimousinian,  though  in  principle  correct,  nmst  not  be 
held  too  stifBy.  Forms  not  Limousinian  were  used,  especially 
toward  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century.  The  language  of 
Provence  (beyond  the  Rhone)  was  farthest  from  the  literary 
tongue. 

2.  P.  175.— As  Paul  Meyer  says,  "What  we  call  Provencal  is 
only  an  arbitrary  selection  from  the  family  of  Romance  tongues 
that  occupy  Italy,  southern  and  western  Switzerland,  most  of  an- 
cient Gaul,  Spain,  and  Portugal."  On  its  boundaries  see  Note  i  on 
Chap.  XXV. 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXIII.  41 1 

3.  p.  176.  —  Vidal's  treatise  enjoyed  extraordinary  currency  ;  for 
example,  it  was  (badly)  translated  into  Italian  by  Terramagnino 
between  1250  and  1280.  In  Spain  it  so  fixed  the  term  "  Limousin- 
iau,"  that  this  word  is  applied  even  now  (Chabaneau)  all  over  that 
country  to  the  speech  of  Catalonia,  which  is  descended  from  the 
tongue  of  the  troubadours.  The  earliest  historian  of  Spanish 
poetry,  the  marquis  of  Santillaua  (born  1398),  called  himself 
Limousinian,  though  Jaufr^  de  Foxa,  a  Catalan  who  composed  in 
Provencal  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century,  used  "  Provenfal." 

U.  Faidit,  who  wrote  a  Proven9al  grammar  for  the  use  of  two 
Italian  nobles,  called  it  Lo  Donatz  Proensals,  but  it  was  not 
known  outside  of  Italy.  His  choice  of  name  was  probably  con- 
trolled or  influenced  by  the  nearness  of  Provence  (beyond-the- 
Rhone).     Vidal  called  his  book  Ragos  de  Trobar. 

4.  P.  176. — The  poets  whose  mother-speech  was  Limousinian 
were  many:  Chabaneau  counts  up  forty  lyricists  in  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries. 

5.  P.  176. — The  multiplicity  of  dialects  in  the  Midi,  though 
great  in  the  troubadour  age,  was  less  than  it  is  now.  At  Rocania- 
dour  a  priest  told  me  that  if  he  moved  even  nine  or  ten  miles  he 
found  it  necessary  to  learn  both  new  words  and  new  idioms.  This 
diversity  of  dialects  was  not  principally  due  to  diversities  in  the 
Latin  introduced  in  different  places  (though  legions  and  colonies 
going  at  successive  periods  would  each  carry  and  fix  in  its  abode 
the  home  speech  of  its  own  period),  but  to  the  fact  that  linguistic 
changes,  which  are  constantly  taking  place,  are  not  perfectly 
uniform  over  a  large  area. 


'  to^ 


6.  p.  176. ^The  struggle  between  Latin  and  the  native  tongues 
did  not  end  in  favor  of  the  Latin  until  the  fourth  century.  Then 
came  the  barbarian  invasions,  especially  of  the  Burgundians  in  the 
eastern  and  the  Visigoths  in  the  western  part  of  the  Midi  ;  but  the 
language  was  not  essentially  modified,  though  as  Mackel  has 
shown,  Germanic  elements  are  discoverable  in  Proven9al. 

7.  P.  180. — Carducci  sums  up  Bernart's  poetic  merits  concisely, 
as  liveliness  and  delicacy  of  sentiment,  beauty  of  imagination, 
natnralness  of  style,  and  ease  of  versification.  Fauriel  spoke  of 
him  as  having  "A  fine  ear,  a  sweet  voice,  a  livelj'  and  delicate 
imagination."  Bernart  never  visited  Italy,  but  he  was  greatly  ad- 
mired there  and  as  early  as  1215  Boncompagno  regarded  him  as 


412  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  most  illustrious  of  the  troubadours.     Bernart  looked  upon  his 
poetic  talent  as  a  gift  of  God. 

8.  P.  183. — Bernart's  versification  was  comparatively  simple,  as 
the  translations  show.  This  was  partly  due  to  his  early  date,  but 
not  wholly,  perhaps  not  mainly  ;  some  of  his  contemporaries  were 
much  less  simple.  The  niceties  of  technique  he  did  not  value 
highly  :  he  allowed  hiatus  even  as  bad  a.s  Je  e,  and  he  was  easy  in 
holding  to  the  rules  of  rhyme,  permitting  himself  to  employ  the 
same  word  twice  with  the  same  meaning.  On  the  other  hand  his 
sense  of  rhythm  was  instinctive,  and  we  find  in  his  pieces  rhythms 
akin  to  our  own.  He  was  the  first  to  use  the  line  of  ten  syllables 
which  became  so  popular  with  the  troubadours,  and  Suchier  has 
suggested  that  perhaps  it  came  to  him  from  the  north  and  marks 
the  first  influence  from  that  quarter.  One  of  his  pieces  is  in  ex- 
actly the  form  of  and  is  similar  in  tone  to  the  German  folk-song. 
So  Viel  Stern  am  Hinimel  stehen,  but  the  resemblance  may  have 
been  accidental.  His  music  departed  a  good  deal  from  the  popular 
style  though  not  nearly  so  much  as  later  music.  He  is  the  earliest 
from  whom  we  have  a  considerable  number  (19)  of  airs. 

9.  P.  183. — Though  a  poet,  Bernart  was  not  ideally  romantic  ; 
he  desired  substantial  favors  and  if  disappointed  spoke  out. 

10.  P.  184. — Bischoff"  and  Carducci  have  believed  that  love  for  a 
man  of  rank,  probably  the  lord  of  Beaucaire,  led  Margarida  to 
banish  Bernart  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  Suchier  is  right  in  pro- 
nouncing this  inference  from  expressions  of  the  poet  much  too 
fanciful.  The  motive  attributed  to  her  in  the  text  appears  reason- 
able and  adequate.  She  had  been  overpowered  by  her  lover,  and 
finding  the  consequences  disagreeable  punished  him  for  them. 

11.  P.  184. —  Eble  went  finally  to  Monte  Cassiuo  in  Italy,  be- 
came a  monk,  and  died  in  1170. 

12.  P.  184. — Margarida  married  Guilhem  IV.,  count  of  Angou- 
leme,  in  1150,  so  that  she  was  without  a  husband  but  a  very  short 
time.     Evidently  she  was  very  attractive. 

13.  P.  184. — We  do  not  know  what  Bernart  did  when  Margarida 
banished  him,  but  it  may  be  supposed  that  he  roamed  about  for  a 
time  and  returned  to  Ventadorn  after  she  left  the  place.  Bischoff 
thinks  he  was  there  until  1153,  the  year  when  it  is  generally  sup- 
posed that  he  went  to  the  court  of  Eleanor  in  Normandy. 

14.  P.  184. — Eleanor  (as  she  appears   prominently  in    English 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXIII.  413 

history  I  use  the  English  name)  was  divorced  from  Louis  VII., 
March  i8,  1152,  and  married  shortly  after  to  Henry  of  Anjou,  duke 
of  Normandy,  who  became  Henry  II.  (Plantagenet)  of  England 
ill  1 154. 

15.  P.  184. — Eleanor  had  probably  heard  of  Bernart  when  in 
Poitiers,  for  Ventadorn  belonged  to  her  possessions,  and  very 
likely  she  had  met  him  there.  Our  knowledge  of  his  movements 
while  associated  with  her  is  derived  from  very  scanty  hints  in  his 
poems  ;  and,  as  Jeanroy  has  said,  Bischoff's  chronology  of  the 
poems  is  far  from  certain.  Bel  Vezer  and  Tristan  refer  almost 
certainly  to  the  viscountess,  while  the  names  Conort  and  Aziinan 
signify  with  little  doubt  Eleanor.  Other  names  we  cannot  be  so 
sure  about.  The  poet  took  special  care  to  conceal  the  identity  of 
his  ladies.     Eleanor  was  of  about  the  same  age  as  Bernart. 

16.  P.  187. — Vid.  No.  63,  col.  62.  I  give  the  whole.  In  the 
original  all  the  rhymes  are  feminine  except  those  of  lines  9-1  r  of 
each  stanza,  a  feature  that  could  not  be  imitated  satisfactoril}'  in 
English.  The  number  of  syllables  in  the  successive  lines  of  each 
stanza  is  8,  6,  8,  6,  8,  6,  8,  6,  6,  6,  7,  6.  Observe  the  special  way  in 
which  the  rhymes  change  from  stanza  to  stanza,  while  the  rhymes 
of  lines  9-1 1  are  always  the  same.  The  last  word  of  line  9  is 
always  "  a?«(9r,"  like  "heart"  in  the  translation.  In  two  cases 
I  have  repeated  the  same  rhymes  (depart  and  start)  in  imitation  of 
Bernart's  easy  style. 

17.  P.  188. — Bernart  certainly  knew  some  lady  in  Narbonne  and 
a  lady  in  Vienne.     He  had  a  tenso  with  Peirol  at  this  period. 

18.  P.  188. — The  abbey  of  Dalon  was  founded  in  11 14  and  merged 
in  theorder  of  Citeauxin  1162.  The  quotation  is  from  William  of  St. 
Thierry's  description  of  Clairvaux.  "  Dalon  "  is  the  name  of  the 
stream, — only  a  brook,  undermining  its  soft  banks  at  every  shower. 
The  abbey  was  wealthy  and  populous  up  to  the  time  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, but  at  present  nothing  remains  except  the  two  bays  of  the 
church  and  some  other  fragments  built  into  a  barn  of  the  chateau, 
belonging  now  to  the  Countess  d'Absac.  The  chateau,  the  only 
building  thereabouts,  is  little  more  than  a  farmhouse,  but  its  pil- 
lared and  vaulted  kitchen,  with  a  fireplace  big  enough  to  roast  a 
whole  ox  and  a  chain  strong  enough  to  support  it,  tells  of  other 
days.  The  lake  of  Born  is  a  little  more  than  a  mile  distant, 
Hautefort  four  or  five  miles. 


414  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

19.  p.  188. — It  is  probable  that  Bernart  lived  but  a  short  time 
after  he  entered  the  abbey.  About  fifty  pieces  of  his  have  been  pre- 
served. The  main  facts  of  his  life — his  affair  with  Margarida,  his 
connection  with  Eleanor,  his  sojourn  with  Raimon,  and  his  end  at 
Dalon— were  told  to  Sain  Circ  by  Eble  IV.,  son  of  Margarida's 
husband,  but  Sain  Circ's  account  of  them  is  not  wholly  free  from 
error. 

The  following  quotations  from  Bernart's  poems  will  be  found  of 
interest  :  "  It  is  extremely  wearisome  and  annoying  to  be  always 
praying  for  pity."  "A  brave  man  grows  bold  where  a  coward 
loses  heart"  (said  to  him  by  his  lady).  "Where  a  man  has  his 
treasure  there  a  man  wishes  to  have  his  heart  also."  "Whoever 
looks  for  good  sense  in  love  has  no  good  sense  himself."  "  Only 
the  true  love  draws  to  itself  like  a  loadstone."  "The  fool  fears 
not  until  the  ill  befalls."  "  It  is  very  hard  for  me  to  treat  hand- 
somely always  one  who  shows  disdain  for  me."  "  The  singing  of 
the  birds  begins  to  be  in  season,  and  I  hear  the  stork  and  heron 
call.  Through  the  gardens  I  see  the  lilies  fresh  and  green.  The 
blue  flower  is  springing  among  the  bushes,  the  streams  run  clear 
above  the  sands,  and  yonder  the  white  blossoms  of  the  lily  opeu." 
''  I  am  not  changeful  as  ladies  are."  "  Love  conquers  all  things 
and  compels  me  to  love  her."  "  Love  makes  rich  and  poor  of  one 
rank."  "  Each  must  stick  to  his  trade."  "  Her  beauty  brightens 
a  fair  day  and  illumines  a  black  night."  "  I  have  been  careful  of 
myself  since  I  have  had  in  view  for  love  the  most  beautiful  [of 
ladies]."  "Sorrow  and  grief  e'er  follow  gladness,  and  sorrow  is 
followed  by  success  and  joy  ;  and  I  believe  that  were  there  not 
sorrow  we  should  not  know  what  gladness  is."  "  I  would  that  all 
Christian  folk  might  have  as  great  joy  as  I  have."  "My  desire 
twists  and  turns  in  many  fashions  and  goes  and  comes."  "  I  recog- 
nize that  God  is  doing  me  great  good  and  great  honor,  for  I  love 
the  fairest,— and  she  me,  I  am  sure."  "  My  heart,  the  best  friend 
I  have,  lady,  I  send  you  as  hostage  against  my  return."  "  Singing 
is  of  little  worth  if  it  move  not  from  within  the  heart."  "The 
happy  man  has  rest  and  repose,  the  unfortunate  wears  himself 
out."  "  My  mouth  is  fasting  for  a  sweet  kiss."  "  I  would  swear 
to  her  by  herself  and  by  my  good  faith  that  the  favor  she  might 
show  me  should  never  be  made  known."  "  Though  all  the  world 
were  placed  beside  me  I  would  rather  have  the  joy  that  deceives 
me."  "  Many  words  about  love  are  a  weariness  and  have  the 
look  of  deceit."     "  A  base  and  false  heart  has  the  man  who  loves 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXIII.  415 

vet  does  not  try  to  make  himself  better."  "  In  great  distress  and 
bitter  pain  lives  he  that  serves  an  unkind  lady."  "Still  water  is 
worse  than  noisy."  "  Be  silent,  mouth,  you  can  speak  too  much, 
and  it  surely  brings  you  into  trouble."  "  It  is  folly  and  childish- 
ness for  one  w  ho  possesses  the  bliss  of  love  to  dare  open  his  heart 
to  any  one."  "  [Her  kiss  was]  like  the  lance  of  Achilles,  whose 
wound  could  not  be  healed  unless  one  made  it  strike  the  same  spot 
again."  "  Love  who  compelled  me  to  love  her  conquers  all  things 
and  in  a  little  while  will  bring  her  to  the  same  disposition."  "  I 
have  joy  in  the  nightingale  and  joy  in  the  flower  ;  I  have  joy  in 
myself  and  greater  joy  in  my  lady.  On  all  sides  1  am  compassed 
and  girt  about  with  gladness,  but  she  is  a  joy  that  surpasses  all  the 
rest."  "  By  heaven  !  lady,  we  are  not  turning  love  to  very  good 
account.  The  time  is  passing  and  we  are  losing  the  best  of  it." 
"When  the  sweet  breeze  blows  from  your  land  meseems  I  scent 
an  odor  from  paradise."  "Love,  what  think  you?  Do  you  find 
a  greater  fool  than  I?"  "  When  I  beg  my  lady  on  my  knees  for 
pity  she  finds  fault  and  quarrels  with  me  ;  the  water  flows  down 
my  face,  she  gives  me  a  loving  look,  and  I  kiss  her  mouth  and  both 
her  ej'es."  "  Lady,  I  am  and  ever  will  be  your  liegeman  equipped 
for  service."  "A  lover  who  is  not  jealous  loves  but  little." 
"  Love  follows  after  one  that  flees  and  repulses  one  that  pursues." 
"  Her  heart  is  so  vain  and  fickle  that  sometimes  I  have  it  and 
sometimes  I  have  it  not."  "  I  go  about  hunting  for  my  self,  who 
puts  me  on  trial  for  folly."  "  Because  they  do  not  at  once  have 
what  they  would,  they  go  about  declaring  that  love  is  no  more." 
"  I  am  often  so  deep  in  thought  that  robbers  could  carry  me  off 
without  my  knowing  what  they  were  about."  "It  seems  to  me 
Christmas  when  she  looks  at  me  with  her  beautiful  spiritual  eyes." 
"  The  nightingale  rejoices  by  flower  and  bough  and  such  a  longing 
seizes  me  that  I  can  but  sing  ;  yet  I  know  not  of  what  or  of  whom 
[to  sing]  for  I  am  in  love  neither  with  myself  nor  with  another." 
"  The  sweet  song  that  the  nightingale  makes  awakes  me  at  night 
when  I  sleep — I  awake  overwhelmed  with  joy  but  made  thoughtful 
and  anxious  by  love."  "  She  will  do  wrong  if  she  bid  me  not  come 
where  she  disrobes,  that  I  may  be  by  her  command  near  her  by 
the  edge  of  the  bed  and  draw  on  her  shoes,  dressing  her  well  and 
humbly  on  my  knees  if  it  please  her  to  reach  me  her  foot."  "  In 
the  water  that  I  weep  from  my  eyes  I  write  more  than  a  hundred 
letters  of  greeting  and  send  them  to  the  best  and  the  most  charming 
[of  ladies]."      "Many  a  time  shall   I  recall  what  she  did  to  me 


4i6  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

at  our  parting,  when  I  saw  her  cover  her  face,  for  she  could  neither 
say  me  '  Yes  '  nor  say  me  '  No.'  "  "  There  is  no  lordship  in  love, 
and  whoever  seeks  it  makes  Love  like  a  boor  ;  for  Love  wills  no- 
thing that  should  not  be, — poor  and  rich  he  makes  of  equal  rank." 
"  Never  again  will  I  trust  auguries  and  lots."  "  Singing  can 
scarce  avail  unless  the  song  move  from  the  heart  within  ;  nor  cau 
song  move  from  the  heart  unless  there  be  sincere  and  hearty  love; 
wherefore  is  my  song  the  best,  because  to  the  gladness  of  love  I 
devote  my  mouth,  my  eyes,  my  heart,  and  my  intelligence."  "  I 
have  learned  by  reading  that  a  drop  of  water  falling  over  and  over 
again  in  the  same  spot  pierces  the  hard  stone  :  [therefore  I  will 
persevere  in  my  courtship]." 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

1.  P.  191. — The  church  dates  from  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries. 

2.  P.  192. — According  to  No.  296,  Faidit  was  born  about  1156 
and  began  to  sing  perhaps  in  1173.  Then  for  twenty-one  years  he 
roamed  about  as  a  joglar.  In  1194  Bonifaz,  marquis  of  Monferrat, 
set  him  on  his  feet  as  a  poet.  (This  seems  better  than  the  view  of 
Diez,  who  thought  Faidit  did  not  go  to  Italy  until  after  the  death 
of  King  Richard,  1199.)  His  nature  was  so  coarse  that  all  these 
hard  years  among  the  castles  were  needed  to  teach  him  the  courtlv 
style. 

3.  P.  195. — All  that  we  know  of  Faidit's  personal  appearance  is 
that  excess  in  drinking  and  eating  made  him  extremely  fat. 

4.  P.  196. — Peire  de  la  Mula  (about  1200)  was  of  Monferrat,  and 
lived  with  Ot  del  Carret,  who  was  podestat  of  Genoa  in  1 194,  and 
who  owned  the  fourth  part  of  Cortemiglia.  He  wrote  "codlas" 
and  sirventes  ;  of  the  latter  we  have  two.  The  comparison  between 
the  joglar  and  the  robber  is  from  a  tenso  between  an  unknown 
Bertran  and  an  Augier  who  was  perhaps  the  Auzer  who  appears  in 
connection  with  Sordel.  Possibly  these  two  were  one  with  Augier 
Novella  of  St.  Donat,  near  Vienne  on  the  Rhone,  who  frequented 
Italian  courts  in  the  time  of  Frederic  II.,  and  from  whom  we  have 
five  or  six  lyrics. 

5.  P.  196. — Joglars,  like  pilgrims,  were  made  useful  as  the  car- 
riers of  letters  and  messages  for  lovers,  and  did  not  always  prove 
reliable.     They  also  served  somewhat  as  musical  colporteurs,  sup- 


Notes  on  Chai)tcr  XXXI\'.  417 

]/lyin^the  castles  with  new  son^LiS  ;  and  of  course  they  were  famous 
t^ossips. 

6.  P.  19S. — The  chief  poems  on  the  duties  of  joglars  were  two 
by  Pons  Guiraut  de  Cabreira  (Cabrera),  a  Catalonian  at  the  court 
of  Amfos  II.,  who  has  left  us  nothing  else,  and  Guiraut  de  Calan- 
son,  a  Gascon,  who  flourished  a  little  later  (1200-121 1),  and  wrote 
in  imitation  of  the  former.  These  two  poems  demand  a  great 
deal  of  the  joglar  but  must  be  considered  probably  as  setting  forth 
an  ideal  rather  than  as  showing  the  actual  state  of  the  profession. 

The  wife  of  Pons  Guiraut,  Marquesa  by  name,  daughter  of  the 
count  of  Urgel,  was  celebrated  by  Bertran  de  Born.  Calanson  is 
described  in  his  biography  as  a  learned  and  acute  man,  but  un- 
popular and  lightly  esteemed.  He  travelled  over  the  Midi,  and 
beginning  as  joglar  rose  to  be  troubadour.  Besides  the  piece  on 
the  joglar  we  have  about  a  dozen  lyrics  from  him.  One  of  these 
contains  an  allegory  on  Love  to  which  reference  was  made  iu  con- 
nection with  Peire  Rogier.  Guiraut  Riquier  wrote  an  expository 
poem  upon  it,  which  seems  to  indicate  that  it  was  well  known. 
Calanson's  language  was  not  always  clear. 

7.  P.  199. — Tiersot  said  that  the  troubadours  and  trouveres  com- 
posed freely  without  regard  to  rules,  and  Fetis  added  that  most  of 
the  troubadours  were  unable  to  write  out  their  melodies,  which 
were  little  more  than  reminiscences  of  oriental  airs.  But  Groeber 
has  .shown  that  many  of  them  were  capable  of  reading  and  writing, 
and  the  theory  that  they  imitated  the  Arabs  must  be  abandoned 
in  respect  to  their  music  as  well  as  their  verse.  The  peculiar 
musical  embellishments  formerly  thought  to  indicate  an  Arab 
source  have  been  found  to  come  from  ancient  popular  usage. 

8.  P.  199. — Among  the  troubadours  especially  distinguished  for 
their  music  were  A.  de  Maruelh,  B.  de  Veutadorn,  Sordel,  Zorgi, 
Sain  Leidier,  Vidal,  Cardinal,  P.  de  Capduelh.  Peguilhaand  Faidit 
sang  badly.  Borneil  had  a  poor  voice.  Brunenc  was  an  exception 
for  he  did  not  compose.  The  popular  airs  upon  which  the  trouba- 
dours' melodies  were  based  were  the  songs  and  dances  of  spring. 
Of  course,  it  is  to  be  understood  that  besides  working  up  popular 
airs  already  in  existence  they  invented  new  ones  of  a  similar  kind. 
Of  course,  too,  there  were  varying  degrees  of  skill  and  musical 
knowledge  among  them. 

Eleven  M.SS.,  designated  by  Monaci's  letters,  contain  what  we 
have  of  the  troubadour  music,  244  melodies.     Of  these,  18  appear 

VOL.  II. — 27. 


4I.S  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

in  three  MSS.,  31  in  two,  and  195  in  one  MS.  only.  The  sub- 
stantial identity  of  the  same  melody  appearing  in  independent 
MSS.  establishes  the  authenticity  of  the  music,  a  point  questioned 
before  the  recent  examination  of  the  MSS.  The  oldest  MS.,  called 
X,  comes  from  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century.  W  is 
also  of  that  century,  and  independent.  G  and  R,  Italian  collec- 
tions, are  of  about  1300.  Peirol  is  especially  fortunate,  for  seven- 
teen of  his  poems  are  accompanied  with  music.  Only  two  tensos 
have  airs — one  of  these  is  Peirol's  discussion  with  Love  about  join- 
ing the  Crusade.  As  a  rule  it  is  believed  that  the  tenso  was  indif- 
ferent about  musical  accompaniment,  and  the  realistic  sirvente 
dispensed  with  it  entirely.  Marcabru  is  the  oldest  troubadour 
from  whom  we  have  music. 

Restori  sums  up  the  musical  development  thus  :  "The  fresh  and 
limpid  phrase,  symmetrically  repeated  ;  the  short  and  natural 
cadence,  almost  always  upon  the  tonic  ;  the  uniform  and  simple 
period — both  musical  and  metrical — gave  way  to  the  continuous 
melody,  to  tonal  indecision,  to  an  artificially  wrought  strophe." 

One  gets  a  wrong  idea  of  this  music  from  the  theory  of  mediaeval 
music  as  set  forth  particularly  by  Coussemaker,  (i)  because  this 
theory  related  primarily  to  harmony  (polyphony),  and  (2)  because 
the  theorists  were  influenced  by  considerations  wholly  unmusical, 
e.  £.,  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  made  theorists  feel  that  only  ter- 
nary measures  were  admissible  in  music  ;  yet  it  is  practically 
certain  that  popular  dancing  and  singing  used  even  measures,  re- 
gardless of  theories  and  theology.  Troubadour  music  gave  a 
note  or  a  separate  group  of  notes  to  each  syllable,  and  this  is  a 
mark  of  popular  origin,  distinguishing  it  from  the  music  of  the 
Church,  the  Gregorian. 

The  precise  relation  between  the  structure  of  the  melody  and 
the  structure  of  the  stanza  is  as  yet  little  understood  ;  for,  says 
Restori,  "  though  we  agree  that  the  lyric-melodic  art  of  the  Ro- 
mance people  originated  from  popular  forms,  the  true  nature  of 
that  art,  the  essential  reasons  for  the  structure  of  the  strophe,  can 
onlv  be  understood  on  condition  that  our  studies  go  back  along 
the  course  which  the  art  of  music  has  followed  in  its  development, 
and  this — ^beyond  a  certain  point — we  lack  the  means  of  doing." 
It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  at  a  certain  time  a  particular  type  of 
strophe  was  accompanied  with  a  particular  type  of  melody,  but 
this  time  is  beyond  our  ken,  and  in  the  oldest  and  most  spontane- 
ous of  the  artistic  music  we  find  an  absolute  independence.     Still 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXI \'. 


419 


further  stud}-  along  the  parallel  lines  of  metric  and  melodic  struc- 
ture may  j-etgive  solid  results.  Besides  Restori,  Appel,  Jacobstbal, 
and  G.  Anielli  are  studying  troubadour  music.  The  following 
specimens  are  from  Restori  (No.  25). 

I.    VIDAL'S  SONG,    "  NOW  TO   FAIR   PROVENCE"  (CHAP.  XVIIIJ. 

gH-l— -r-J-ri-l'J  J  rJ  J  I 


^^ 


^ 


i^ES& 


m^u.''-WhM-7Uj:'  1 J  iiiiij=^.^j:rifa±j 


J  jfj.T 


r-w 


^ 


^ 


J^/^J 


4r  ^^JJ'^^S 


^±ffi^  ^^^^J.'lj^j  J  *  l1^ 


3; 


S 


Jl.   p.    DE  CAPDUELH'S  SONG,   "  HOW  QLAD  A  CHEER"  (CHAP.   XXVIII.). 


^ 


3E==RE 


zzrfL^  J I  J  ^  I  r: 


^ 


^ 


^^ 


if' 


^ 


r  f  I  r  f  I  ^^^^n-+ j^J  J  N  ^ 


^ 


^^ 


^ 


^^ 


^ 


^ 


-f.J' J I ^-m,i 


^ 


^ 


^^ 


9.  p.  199. — The  "  fresh  and  musical  effects"  of  the  best  trouba- 
dour art  were  particularly  due  to  the  logical  development  and 
rhythmical  return  of  the  melodic  phrase  and  the  sense  of  tonality. 


420 


Ihc  Troubadours  at  Home 


10.  r.  200. — Besides  the  three  kinds  of  uotes — loiiga,  brcvis,  and 
semi-brevis — there  is  also  found  occasionally  ihe  plica. 

11.  P.  200. — The  lack  of  measures  did  not  injure  troubadour 
music,  for  it  was  only  in  one  part ;  but  in  transferring  it  to  modern 
notation  some  violence  has  to  be  done.  Pauses  were  indicated 
more  or  less  by  a  kind  of  bar,  as  appears  in  the  facsimile ,  but  pauses 
were  not  the  same  in  all  the  stanzas.  The  facsimile  represents  an 
inferior  version  of  the  air  given  in  Chap.  XXXII.  For  comparison 
I  give  a  transliteration  of  it  kindly  made  for  me  by  Mr.  Gilchrist 
and  Dr.  Clarke  of  Philadelphia. 


^^m 


--T 


:=!=:q=^= 


--* — ■•- 


^*=q= 


•=*^=d: 


--dr- 


_, — I — I- 


•   ,1— •- 


# 


|Egig^: 


:=t 


-t»—»    «~ 


-1 1 


— — c ^ji       I       I •— ' — ■ -m — -m — •- 


;=ii 


^i^ 


_B V ^ — i— •— ^— M— '-J ■• * ■# ^ 


12.  P.  201. — Restori  remarks  that  while  most  of  the  melodies 
conclude  with  a  cadence  that  preserves  the  pitch  (unison,  5,  or  4), 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXIV.  421 

some  end  ou  2,  which  suggests  an  instrumental  cadenza  on  the 
tonic  (see  P.  de  Capduelh's  song  above).  He  also  calls  attention 
to  the  word  applied  to  Peire  d'Uissel  in  his  biography — "  descan- 
tava'" — as  probably  meaning  that  he  added  a  harmony  to  the 
compositions  of  the  others. 

13.  P.  201. — The  three  medallions  are  from  No.  143,  p.  36.  The 
other  pictures  (on  page  196)  I  had  carefully  copied  from  photo- 
graphs of  the  Porta  della  Gloria  in  the  famous  pilgrim  church  of 
St.  James  de  Compostella  in  Galicia,  Spain.  This  church,  though 
in  a  remote  corner,  was  not  a  local  affair.  The  one  who  planned 
it  was  clearly  familiar  with  St.  Sernin  of  Toulouse.  The  sculptures, 
done  by  Mestre  Mateo,  bear  the  date  of  11 88,  and  so  are  our  best 
representation  of  the  principal  instruments  employed  atthe  climax 
of  the  troubadour  age.  They  are  in  the  hands  of  an  orchestra  of 
twenty-four  elders. 

The  viol  was  structurally  weak,  for  the  sides  were  round  or  simply 
bent  in  without  corner-pieces,  and  the  front  and  back  were  flat  as 
in  the  guitar.  It  must  have  had  a  guitar-like  tone.  The  strings 
varied  from  two  to  five.  When  there  were  five  the  two  highest 
were  frequently  tuned  in  unison  to  strengthen  the  sound,  and  oc- 
casionally to  deepen  the  bass  the  lowest  string  was  attached  to  a 
peg  outside  the  head.  There  were  three  ways  to  tune  the  five- 
stringed  viol.  Calanson  mentions  one  instrument  with  seventeen 
strings.  One  of  the  cuts  shows  the  organistrum,  a  sort  of  hurdy- 
gurdv,  made  to  sound  with  a  wheel  and  stopped  with  keys.  Kettle- 
drums were  used.  The  giga,  a  kind  of  fiddle  with  a  clear  high  tone, 
was  enjoyed  at  dances ;  from  it  a  certain  kind  of  dance  took  its 
name, — gigue,  jig.  There  were  also  simple  instruments  for  mark- 
ing time,  such  as  a  hoop  set  with  bells.  The  rebec  had  only  two 
strings  with  a  compass  of  nine  notes  ;  this  was  often  represented 
in  the  hands  of  madonnas  and  saints,  especially  by  Venetian  artists. 
The  bow  was  simply  a  bent  stick  strained  with  hair.  The  fingers 
and  the  plectrum  also  were  used  as  at  present  to  set  strings  in  \n- 
bration  (i'.  ^.,  harp  and  lute).  Other  instruments  were  the  reed- 
pipe,  the  Pan-pipes,  the  flute,  both  single  and  double  (blown  at 
the  end),  the  bagpipe,  many  varieties  of  the  viol-  and  lute- 
forms,  and  still  others  of  which  we  know  only  the  names.  There 
were  also  instruments  for  military  uses.  When  a  troubadour 
accompanied  himself  he  perhaps  used  an  instrument  of  the  harp 
or  lute  family  ;  but  an  accompanist  was  as  likely  to  use  some  kind 
of  a  viol. 


422  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

14.  p.  202.  —  The  terms  "joglar"  and  "troubadour"  seem  to 
have  overlapped.  The  troubadour  was  one  who  made  artistic 
songs,  the  joglar  one  who  made  a  living  as  an  entertainer.  Only 
poets  of  independent  means  were,  strictly  speaking,  troubadours. 
The  joglar  shared  the  winnings  of  the  troubadour  whom  he  ac- 
companied. These  winnings  were  gifts  of  money,  clothing,  horses, 
equipments,  in  short  anything  of  value  at  the  donor's  pleasure. 

15.  P.  202. — ^Alais  is  a  considerable  town  near  Anduze.  The 
woman's  name  was  Guilhelma  Monja. 

16.  P.  202.  —  Faidit  had  an  acrimonious  passage  at  arms  with 
Elias  d'Uissel,  who  taunted  him  with  his  obesity,  his  poverty,  his 
wife,  and  his  worthless  son  ;  and  the  Monk  referred  sarcastically 
to  his  marriage. 

17.  P.  203. — The  name  Richard  was  Richart  in  Provenjal. 

18.  P.  203. — Faidit  went  crusading,  but  there  are  differences  of 
opinion  as  to  the  time.  According  to  Restori,  for  example,  he 
joined  in  both  the  third  and  the  fourth  crusades  ;  Schultz,  in  hold- 
ing that  no  troubadour  took  part  in  the  fourth  except  R.  de  Va- 
queiras,  assigns  Faidit  to  the  third  only  ;  while  Diez  (No.  142) 
assigns  him  to  the  fourth,  which  certainly  he  used  his  talents  to 
promote. 

19.  P.  203. — Green  {Stray  Studies)  sees  in  Richard's  "lavish 
recognition  of  municipal  life  "  more  than  a  wish  to  obtain  money 
from  the  sale  of  charters  ;  but  John  followed  the  same  policy. 
Still  a  careful  estimate  shows  that  Richard  had  great  ability  and 
zeal  for  work,  was  by  nature  severely  just,  stood  in  advance  of  his 
time  as  captain  and  military  engineer,  and  toward  the  close  of  his 
life  showed  signs  of  becoming  statesman  as  well  as  soldier  ;  it  was 
the  force  of  his  passions  that  made  him  a  "  wild  boar,"  as  Born 
called  him,  and  betrayed  him  into  excesses  of  all  kinds. 

20.  P.  203. — Chains  is  Chalus-Chabrol,  not  far  from  Limoges, 
a  quaint,  dried-up  village.  Through  it  flows  a  little  stream,  the 
Tardoire,  and  just  between  the  two  hills  of  the  place  the  stream 
becomes  a  pond  walled  up  on  four  sides.  Along  one  of  the  sides 
grows  a  double  row  of  maples  and  beeches  ;  along  another  runs  a 
long  arbor  of  charmille,  covered  with  ivy.  On  the  opposite  side 
winds  a  path,  shadowed  with  trees  and  bordered  with  roses,  peo- 
nies, pinks,  dahlias,  and  a  dozen  other  blossoming  flowers,  where 
one  could  sit  in  an  alcove  under  a  great  fir  tree,  were  there  not  too 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXIV.  4 


23 


much  to  see.  On  the  last  side,  through  a  mass  of  evergreens  and 
locusts  overhanging  the  path,  enters  the  Tardoire,  spanned  with 
rustic  bridges  covered  with  ivy  and  roses.  Here  is  a  grotto,  there 
a  cascade,  and  yonder  an  old-time  water-wheel  revolving  slowly 
and  ponderously.  A  more  delightful  spot  could  scarcely  be  im- 
agined, especially  as  its  beauties  are  pointed  out  by  the  proprietress 
herself.  Looking  through  the  shrubbery  you  find  on  each  side» 
rising  above  the  hills,  an  ancient  tower, — one  the  tower  of  Chalus, 
the  other  that  of  La  Vallette.  Just  below  in  the  meadow  is  a  grey 
rock  some  eight  feet  long,  the  nose  of  a  covered  ledge  :  this  is  the 
Rock  Maumont,  upon  which  according  to  credible  tradition  the 
king  fell.  He  was  wounded  March  26,  and  died  April  6,  1199. 
He  was  within  his  right  in  claiming  the  treasure,  and  he  needed 
money  badly  to  provide  for  the  defence  of  his  territories  against 
the  king  of  France. 

21.  P.  204. — It  has  long  been  debated  whether  Richard  should 
be  classed  among  the  troubadours.  His  sirvente  against  the  Dalfin 
was  in  French,  and  it  is  now  believed  that  the  prison-piece  attrib- 
uted to  him  was  also  originally  in  that  tongue.  We  have  two 
lines  of  a  Provenfal  poem  attributed  to  him  in  the  song-book  of 
Francesco  Redi,  but  it  is  not  safe  to  build  a  conviction  upon  them. 
Still,  as  he  was  a  poet,  a  friend  of  troubadours,  and  familiar  with 
their  language,  I  do  not  see  how  we  can  doubt  that  he  composed 
verses  more  or  less  in  Provencal. 

22.  P.  204.— Vid.  No.  41,  No.  82.  This  Lament  is  the  only  one 
of  which  we  have  the  air  (Springer).  It  is  found  in  three  of  the 
French  MSS.  The  original  contains  besides  the  tornada  six  stan- 
zas, of  which  I  give  i,  2,  and  3.  In  the  remaining  stanzas  the  poet 
speaks  of  the  loss  to  courts  and  tournaments  and  those  dependent 
on  Richard's  bounty,  and  the  gain  of  the  Turks  and  Saracens.  He 
expresses  the  fear  that  no  one  lives  who  can  recover  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  and  pays  a  compliment  to  the  memory  of  Richard's 
brothers. 

The  music  is  after  Restori  from  MS.  G,  Italian,  of  about  a.d. 
1300.     (The  older  versions  in  MvSS.  X  and  W  are  defective.) 

23.  P.  207. — Maria  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  daughter  of 
Boson  II.,  viscount  of  Turenne,  who  died  June  19,  1143  (Mas 
Latrie).  I  follow  Schultz  and  R.  Meyer  in  taking  1191  as  the 
earliest  supposable  date  of  her  marriage  to  Eble  V.  (she  was  his 
second  wife)  though  others  have  held  that  the  marriage  took  place 


424  1  li<^  Troubadours  at  Home 

before  1183  because  apparently  the  history  of  Geoffroi  de  Vigeois 
inentions  it,  and  his  history  was  completed  in  that  year.  She  died 
in  1219.  I  must  confess  that  it  seems  as  if  she  must  have  had 
another  father  than  Boson  II.,  for  Faidit  was  still  courting  her  in 
1204  when  she  would  have  been  at  least  sixty  years  of  age  ;  but  I 
know  of  no  way  to  prove  the  usual  view  incorrect.  Maria's  ac- 
cepted lover  was  Ugo  (IX.)  lo  Brun,  count  of  la  Marche  (Marcba), 
who  died  in  1219.  Very  likely,  as  Diez  suggested,  Faidit  was  first 
attracted  to  Maria  b}'  a  wish  to  find  a  worthy  theme.  His  relations 
with  her  seem  to  have  begun  about  1190  and  to  have  ended  about 
1204. 

24.  P.  212.— Almost  nothing  remains  of  the  castle  of  Malemort 
[Prov.  Malamort)  except  the  huge  corner  shown  in  the  picture. 
Behind  it  a  line  of  cottages,  ragged  and  brown,  streams  away  to- 
ward the  hill,  which  were  evidently  built  of  its  debris,  as  a  comet's 
tail  is  developed  from  its  head.  The  rentiers  got  possession  of  the 
castle  and  held  it  for  some  time,  but  the  viscount  and  the  bishop 
of  Limoges,  joining  forces,  took  it  in  1 177,  and  their  troops  literally 
exterminated  all  persons  found  there.  The  name  of  Audiart's 
husband  was  Peire. 

25.  P.  217. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  112.  I  give  the  whole.  L.  19,  lit., 
"  the  fair  greetings  and  the  honored  deeds  and  the  pleasing  words 
of  our  lady,  and  the  gifts  of  loving  demeanor  and  the  sweet  looks 
[that  presage  the  joy  of  love]  "  ;  1.  29,  //A,"  mead  and  garden"  ; 
the  winds  specified  b}-  Faidit  are  those  that  troubled  a  westward 
voyage. 

26.  P.  217. — According  to  R.  Meyer's  reckoning  Faidit  passed 
1202-1204  on  the  crusade,  returned  then  to  Limousin  for  a  short 
stay,  sojourned  for  a  time  with  a  certain  Isnaure  in  Provence,  re- 
sided chiefly  with  Raimon  d'Agot,  lord  of  »Sault  (near  Carpentras), 
devoted  himself  to  Jordana  of  Ebrun  (Embrun  near  the  Alps)  dur- 
ing 1205  and  1206,  and  toward  the  end  of  1206  began  his  relations 
with  Margarida,  vicountess  of  Aubusson  {Prov.  Albusso),  which 
occupied  1207  and  120S. 

Jordana  of  her  own  accord  showed  him  love,  but  was  afterward 
thought  hy  Faidit  and  the  public  to  have  accepted  Amfos  II., 
count  of  Provence.  According  to  the  biography  Faidit  begged 
her  to  forgive  him  on  the  grounds  that  he  wished  to  take  the  cross 
and  go  to  Rome,  but  could  not  do  so  rightly  if  there  were  ill  will 
between  him  and  any  one  else,  andtbatshe  must  pardon  him  if  she 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXX\\  425 

wished   God  to  pardon    her.     Faidit's  name  for    her  was    ^^  Bels 
Espers''''  (Fair Hope). 

Margarida  was  the  wife  of  Rainaut  VI.,  to  whom  Gui  d'Uissel 
paid  his  addresses.  She  suffered  Faidit  once  to  kiss  her  neck  as 
he  was  saying  good-bye,  but  her  accepted  lover  was  Ugo  de  Lesigna, 
son  of  the  lover  of  Maria  de  Ventadorn.  As  they  could  not  do  as 
they  wished  at  her  home  she  gave  him  a  rendezvous  at  F'aidit's 
house  in  Uzerche,  and  again  at  Rocamadour.  leaving  home  on  the 
plea  of  a  pilgrimage. 

27.  P.  218. — He  lived  until  1216  (Chabaueau  ;  according  to  Diez 
until  1235).  Uzerche  seems  always  to  have  been  his  "home." 
We  have  about  seventj'  pieces  from  him,  which  unfortunately  con- 
tain but  few  historical  or  autobiographical  data.  The  defect  of 
his  verse  and  of  his  music  lies  in  the  fact  that  they  give  the  impres- 
sion of  being  labored,  of  being  wrought  instead  of  inspired. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

1.  P.  219. — I  have  no  authority  for  my  picture  of  Born,  but  it 
was  interesting  to  me  to  find  after  drawing  it  that  I  had,  without 
being  aware  of  the  fact,  sketched  very  closely  the  personal  appear- 
ance of  Defoe,  with  whom  Born  will  be  compared  later.  Full 
beards  went  out  of  style  during  Henry  the  Second's  time,  but  came 
back  during  Richard's.  I  have  made  Born  small  partly  because  I 
hardly  think  his  bumptiousness  would  have  been  endured  from  a 
large  man. 

2.  P.  220. — The  portrait  of  Henry  is  authentic.  I  have  supple- 
mented Giraldus  Cambrensis  from  the  monumental  effigy  at  Fon- 
trevault.  The  costume  is  from  the  latter.  To  be  sure,  the  painting 
of  the  effigy  (done  in  1636)  was  the  third  or  fourth,  but  the  painter 
would  naturally  try  to  reproduce  the  previous  coloring  ;  and  while 
not  authoritative  the  costume  is  every  way  possible.  The  garment 
called  bliaut  is,  in  the  effigy,  the  dalmatic.  "  By  God's  eyes  I" 
was  Henry's  favorite  oath. 

3.  P.  220. — Henry  conquered  Scotland  in  the  sense  of  compelling 
the  king  to  do  homage  and  surrender  a  portion  of  his  territory. 

4.  P.  221. — The  authority  for  the  words  of  Henry  and  Born  (for 
the  rest  of  the  scene  I  am  responsible)  is  a  Proven fal  razo,  but  its 
historical  character  is  far  from  unquestioned.  Thomas  doubts  and 
Stimming  rejects  it.     I  have  introduced  the  scene  because,  whether 


426  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

true  or  not,  it  paints  both  of  the  men  to  the  life,  and  because  it 
has  become  a  part  of  Horn's  literary  story  {e.g.,  see  Uhland's  poem, 
"Bertrau  de  Born").  I  venture  to  add  that  I  think  Stimming 
(No.  412)  too  positive  in  rejecting  it,  as  he  does,  simply  on  the 
ground  that  Henry  was  not  present  at  the  capture  of  Autafort. 
(His  words,  p.  25,  are,  "  Ebcnso  wenig  kann  .  .  .  die  schone 
Scene  .  .  .  geschichtlich  sein,  aus  dem  einfachen  Grunde  weih 
wie  wir gesehen  haben,  der  Konig  bei  der  Einnahme  von  Autafort 
gar  nicht  ziigegengewesen  ist.")  But  the  castle  fell  July  6,  1183; 
Henry  and  Richard  were  together  at  Angiers  on  July  3  (No.  155) ; 
they  were  probably  not  far  apart  three  days  later  ;  when  Henry 
was  on  the  ground  Richard  was  only  his  lieutenant,  so  that  what- 
ever Richard  did  could  be  said  to  have  been  done  by  Henry  ;  and 
it  would  be  very  natural  for  Richard  to  send  Born  to  Henry  to  be 
judged.  This  was  the  more  natural  because  Henry  doubtless  had 
a  special  interest  in  Born's  case.  Accordingly  Norgate  (No.  323) 
states  that  when  Born  asked  Richard  to  give  him  back  the  castle, 
Richard  sent  him  to  Henry.  It  should  be  noted  that  Stimming 
admits  that  on  his  theory  he  cannot  explain  how  Born  recovered 
his  property  in  1183. 

5.  P.  221. — It  is  impossible  in  a  sketch  like  this  to  treat  the  his- 
torical questions  connected  with  Born  ;  my  only  aim  is  to  set  forth 
the  man,  the  poet,  and  the  times,  and  I  leave  the  reader  to  find 
fuller  information  in  No.  429  or  No.  412. 

Born's  chronology  is  in  brief  as  follows  : 
1 1 14.  His   grandfather,   Itier,  appears  in   the  records  of 

Dalon. 
?  His   father,    Bertran,   married    Ermengarda.      They 

had  three  sons,  Bertran  (the  poet),  Itier,  and  Constan- 
tin.     Itier  probably  died  young. 
1135-1140.         Bertran  (the  poet)  born. 

1159-1169.  A  document  written  between  these  dates  shows  that 
Bertran  and  his  brother  Constantin  were  joint  possess- 
ors of  Autafort  (the  right  of  primogeniture  did  not 
exist  in  the  Midi),  which  originally  belonged  to  the 
family  of  Lastours  (the  castle  of  Born  had  passed  to 
another  family). 

Bertran  married  Rainmnda.  They  had  two  sons, 
Bertran  and  Itier,  and  a  daughter,  Aimelina,  who  before 
1 193  had  married  Seguin  of  Lastours,  and  had  two  sons. 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXV.  427 

1I92.  The  poet's  sons  knighted  at  I^e  Puy  ;  at  this  time  he 

had  another  wife,  Philippa,  who  bore  hini  two  sons, 
Bertran  (the  younger  poet  of  the  name)  and  Coustantin 
(perhaps  this  name  suggests  that  he  and  his  brother 
had  become  reconciled). 

I173-1174.  First  revolt  of  King  Henry's  sons,  in  which  Born 
appears  to  have  had  no  part. 

1 181.  Born  was  requested  by  the  count  of  Toulouse  to 
write  a  sirvente  for  him  against  Amfos  II.  of  Aragon, 
who  was  besieging  Toulouse,  an  evidence  that  Born 
had  become  famous. 

?  He    dispossessed    his    brother    Coustantin  ;   neigh- 

boring nobles  took  Autafort  and  reinstated  Cou- 
stantin. 

1 182.  Coustantin,  again  ejected,  appealed  to  Richard  who 
attacked  Autafort,  but  was  called  away  by  more  im- 
portant affairs)  and  to  Henry  (who,  however,  left 
Bertran  in  possession). 

1 182.  The  love  affair  with  Maeut  began  before  the  end  of 
this  year.  During  the  winter,  at  Argentan,  Born  cele- 
brated Richard's  sister.  In  the  spring  of  1 183  began 
his  troubles  with  Maeut. 

1183.  Enric  (Henry-of-the-Short-Mantle\  eldest  son  of 
King  Henry,  headed  a  revolt  of  the  nobles  (including 
Born)  against  Richard,  count  of  Poitou  and  duke  of 
Aquitaine.  The  king's  influence  secured  peace.  Born 
was  incensed  that  Enric  laid  down  his  arms  and  at- 
tacked him  in  a  sirvente.  The  barons  refused  to 
recognize  the  peace  because  they  had  not  been  con- 
sidered ;  and  soon  Euric,  apparently  stung  by  the 
reproaches  made  against  him,  joined  them  again  ;  but 
his  death,  June  nth,  killed  the  enterprise.  Richard 
attacked  Autafort,  aided  by  Amfos  II.  of  Aragon,  took 
it  July  6th,  after  a  week's  siege,  and  gave  it  to  Coustan- 
tin. Bertran  recovered  it,  however.  Several  sirventes 
and  the  two  Laments  were  written  during  this  pe- 
riod. 

1 184.  Two  poems  against  Amfos  II.,  etc. 

1 187.  Born  interested  in  the  war  between  France  and  Eng- 

land, which,  however,  w;is  terminated  by  the  pope's 
legates  before  a  battle  took  place. 


428  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

I188-1195.         Born  sang  of  the  crusades,  of  a  war  between  Rich- 
ard and  the  count  of  Toulouse  ;  in  praise  of  Conrat  of 
Monferrat,  and  on  Richard's  release  from  captivity. 
1 196.  He  was  a  monk  of  Dalon,  January  8th. 

1 2 15.  He  died. 

The  chronology  of  the  poems  does  not  appear,  however,  to  be 
settled  finally  even  by  Stimming's  second  edition.  For  example, 
P.  Boissonnade,  in  No.  2,  VII.,  p.  275,  holds  that  Bern's  rupture 
with  his  brother  occurred  in  the  last  part  of  1 180  or  early  in  1181  ; 
that  Gcsname  desconort\>&\o\\^s\n  the  summer  of  1181  (instead 
of  in  1 183) ;  that  Un  sirventes  on  motz  nofalh  came  earlier  in  1181 
(instead  of  in  1182)  ;  and  that  Puois  Ventadorns  was  composed 
during  the  first  half  of  1182  (instead  of  in  1183). 

It  is  stated  in  the  books  on  Born  that  the  ruins  of  the  original 
Born  castle  may  be  seen,  not  far  from  Dalon,  in  the  forest  above 
the  lake  of  Born  and  below  Bellegarde,  and  I  was  determined  to 
find  them.  I  went  within  about  a  mile  of  this  locality  and  ques- 
tioned about  a  dozen  persons.  All  agreed  that  no  such  ruins  existed, 
though  I  was  told  of  an  old  lime-kiln  thereabouts.  The  ruins  may 
be  there,  but  it  did  not  seem  worth  my  while  to  prosecute  the 
search  farther. 

6.  r.  222. — According  to  tradition  Richard  made  additions  to  the 
castle  of  Autafort  after  his  return  from  captivity.  As  it  stands  now 
it  dates  from  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  but  the  orig- 
inal castle  was  erected  in  the  eleventh  century. 

7.  P.  222.— iWe  feel  tempted  to  wonder  sometimes  how  walled 
places  could  ever  have  been  taken.  But  (i)  often  the  walls  were 
weak,  and  we  even  read  of  walls  being  thrown  down  by  gales  ;  (2) 
the  battering-rams  and  other  engines  were  pretty  effective  ;  and 
(3)  parapets  were  narrow  and  gave  room  for  but  few  defenders,  so 
that  when  a  movable  tower  was  advanced  against  them  the  assail- 
ants could  overpower  the  garrison. 

8.  P.  223. — Though  not  a  warm  love-poet,  Born  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  unusually  moral. 

9.  P.  223.— Maeut  (Matilda)  was  the  daughter  of  Boson  II.,  vis- 
count of  Torena  (Turenne),  and  married  Lord  Talairan  of  Montan- 
hac  (Montignac)  before  1168.  Born's  relations  with  her  began 
before  1183. 

Maeut  and  Maria  de  Ventadorn  had  a  sister,  Elis,  who  married 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXX\\  429 

Guilheni  de  Gordon,  and  after  his  death  the  lord  of  Monfort  (near 
.Sarlat,  Dordogne).  Raimon  Jordan,  viscount  (or  one  of  the  vis- 
counts) of  San  Antoni  (St.  Antonin,  near  Montauban),  loved  the 
wife  of  R.  Aniielh,  viscount  of  Peua  (Penne,  near  Gaillac),  who, 
hearing  that  he  had  been  killed  in  battle,  l)ecanie  an  Albigensian, 
and  so  as  good  as  a  nun.  Jordan  recovered,  and  learning  what  his 
lady  had  done  lost  all  joy  in  life.  Elis  de  Monfort  sent  for  him  and 
offered  to  console  him.  R.  Jordan  became  her  lover  then,  and  cele- 
brated her  in  his  songs.  We  have  about  a  dozen  of  his  lyrics  and 
a  translation  (somewhat  abridged)  by  F.  da  Barberino  of  one  of  his 
tales.  He  once  sang,  "  I  tell  you  truly  it  is  no  honor  to  speak  ill 
of  that  [sex]  to  which  the  mothers  belong." 

10.  r.  224. — This  poem  is  in  No.  429,  p.  131. 

11.  P.  224. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  104,  St.  2.  The  last  line  is  literally, 
"  and  seems  a  rabbit  as  to  the  spine."  This  has  been  translated, 
"  Epaules  douces  comnie  le  duvet,''''  but  I  venture  to  offer  another 
rendering. 

12.  P.  225. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  125,  St.  3.  Argentan  is  a  consider- 
able town  on  the  line  from  Paris  to  Granville,  and  a  bit  of  the  an- 
cient donjon  may  be  seen  there  now.  Passing  through  a  house 
by  a  flight  of  stairs  and  up  another  short  flight,  one  comes  to  a 
little  garden  on  the  south  side  of  which  rises  a  wall  of  grey  stone, 
not  circular,  but  polygonal,  filling  perhaps  60°  of  the  circuit.  By 
a  long  flight  of  steps  one  can  mount  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  which 
has  a  parapet  on  both  sides.  Houses  shut  in  the  ruin  on  all  sides, 
and  no  interesting  photograph  can  be  obtained. 

13.  P.  226. — The  name  of  Richard's  sister  was  Mahut  or  Matilda. 
The  Emperor  Otho  IV.  was  her  son. 

14.  P.  226. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  122.  Stimming  seems  to  me  right 
in  thinking  that  Bel  Senher,  here  and  elsewhere,  signifies  Maeut. 

15.  P.  226. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  114,  St.  I. 

16.  P.  227. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  76,  St.  6.  There  are  seven  stanzas 
and  a  tornada,  besides  an  eighth  stanza  from  another  hand.  In 
the  seventh  stanza  Born  asks  why,  when  he  has  a  tame,  well  trained, 
and  well  conditioned  hawk,  he  should  change  for  one  badly 
moulted,  given  to  chasing,  hens,  fat,  badly  trained,  and  incapable 
of  flying.  Gal  van  i  supposes  that  this  piece  was  the  model  for  Pe- 
trarch's "  S'  i'  '/  dissi  mai  ;  ch'  /'  venga  in  odio  a  quella." 

17.  P.  227. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  no,  St.  I. 


430  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

i8.  P.  228.  The  husband  of  Tiborc  was  lord  not  only  of  Chalais, 
but  of  Barbezieux  and  Montausier  (near  Barbezieux).  I  have  sup- 
posed that  Born  went  to  Chalais  because  he  himself  speaks  of 
Tiborc  as  the  viscountess  of  Chalais. 

19.  P.  232. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  138,  St.  5, 

20.  P.  232.— Vid.  No.  429,  p.  81,  St.  2.  L.  5  is  trochaic  in  the 
original,  i.e.,  has  eight  syllables  and  a  double  rhyme.  Stimming 
makes  £t.  i  and  2  a  separate  poem.     See  No.  412,  p.  129. 

21.  P.  233. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  61,  St.  6.  Thomas  places  this  in 
1185-1186;  Stimming,  in  1186-1187. 

22.  P.  234. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  8,  St.  3. 

23.  P.  234. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  4,  torn. 

24.  P.  235.— Vid.  No.  429,  p.  40,  11.  21-24.  The  last  two  lines 
are  literally,  "  I  do  not  hold  or  believe  any  other  law." 

25.  P.  237. — Born's  equipment — except  the  name  of  his  horse 
and  the  color  of  his  gonfanon — is  imaginary,  intended  to  represent 
his  time.  Equipment  was  in  a  transition  state  just  then.  Toillus- 
trate  the  difficulty  of  being  sure,  I  may  say  that  the  expert  who 
constructed  the  typical  historical  figures  for  the  Musee  d'Artillerie 
at  Paris,  told  me  that  in  attempting  to  work  out  the  details  of 
VioUet-le-Duc  absolute  impossibilities  were  encountered.  The 
seal  of  Mathieu  de  Montmorency  (1193)  is  the  best  single  author- 
ity, but  that  represents  features  not  in  general  use  at  that  date, 
e.g.,  the  coal-scuttle  helmet.  After  1200  the  hauberk  was  not  a 
leather  or  cloth  coat  covered  with  mail,  but  a  real  coat  of  mail  ; 
the  hauberk  became  shorter,  and  trousers  of  mail  reaching  up  to 
the  hips  were  used.  Surcoats  (suggested  by  the  hot  sun  of  Palestine 
blazing  on  the  armor  of  crusaders)  on  which  the  knights'  arms 
were  often  blazoned  came  into  general  use  about  the  same  time. 
The  language  of  heraldry  became  precise  toward  the  end  of  the 
twelfth  century.  The  tip  of  the  spur  point  was  conical  or  pyram- 
idal, and  the  whole  spur  was  frequently  of  gold.  Spurs  of 
gilded  silver  are  mentioned  in  the  poem  on  Girart  de  Rossillon. 
Sometimes  a  bliaut  was  worn  under  the  hauberk,  and  the  skirt  of 
it  (or,  as  some  hold,  the  end  of  the  shirt)  flew  in  the  wind  as  the 
knight  rode  (see  the  cut  on  p.  237).  There  were,  of  course,  various 
styles  of  equipment  at  the  same  time,  and  one  man  would  cling  to 
the  old  fashion  while  another  adopted  the  new  ;  so  in  the  Hortus 
Delic,  begun  about  11 75,  we  see  conical  helmets  with  small  round 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXVI.  431 

shields,  and  also  with  shields  reaching  from  the  shoulder  almost 
to  the  ankle.  It  is  quite  possible  that  Born  wore  some  mail  on  his 
legs.  At  this  time  horses  were  as  often  as  not,  and  perhaps  oftener, 
entirely  without  armor.  The  cuts  in  the  text,  while  the  best  avail- 
able, illustrate  the  fact  that  various  sources  must  be  used. 

26.  P.  237.— For  military  music,  we  know  from  Flamenca  that 
trumpets,  bugles,  horns,  cymbals,  drums,  and  fifes  were  used. 

27-  P-  239.— Vid.  No.  429,  p.  133.  This  famous  battle-song  is 
not  attributed  to  Born  by  all  the  authorities.  The  best  summary 
of  the  arguments,  I  think,  is  Chabaueau's  in  No.  112,  p.  56.  The 
testimonies  for  Born  are  four,  against  two  for  Guilhem  de  Sain 
Gregori,  and  there  are  other  considerations  in  his  favor.  The 
stanza  to  Pros  Comiessa  is  probably  an  interpolation.  As  this 
piece  was  an  imitation  in  rhythm  and  rhymes  of  No  pcsc  v.uidar 
qu'  a  la  dolor  of  Borneil,  and  as  there  were  several  other  imitations 
of  the  same,  confusion  as  to  the  authorship  of  a  particular  one  was 
natural. 

G.  de  Sain  Gregori  (St.  Gregoire,  near  Digne)  was  probably  of 
Provence,  and  lived  in  the  time  of  Blacatz.  We  have  three  or  four 
lyrics  from  him. 

In  this  piece  there  are  five  st.  in  all,  of  which  I  give  four  ;  and 
two  tornadas,  of  which  I  give  the  first.  The  second  tornada  is 
given  in  only  one  MS.  and  may  not  be  genuine.  The  omitted 
stanza  praises  the  lord  who  is  "  first  to  attack,"  and  emboldens  his 
men  by  his  own  courage.  As  movement  is  especially  important  in 
this  piece,  I  have  translated  with  somewhat  more  freedom  than 
usual ;  e.g.,  lines  8,  15,  and  38  are  not  in  the  original. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

1.  P.  240. — Count  of  Poitou  in  1169,  and  duke  of  Aquitaine  in 
1170. 

2.  P.  242. — A  fact  which  perhaps  showed  that  Born  was  feared, 
is  Richard's  eagerness  to  conclude  a  peace  with  the  viscount  of 
Limoges  (1182)  in  order  to  attack  Autafort  when  Born  ejected  his 
brother. 

3.  P.  247. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  32,  1.  46.  Bom  had  recently  been 
at  work  against  Richard. 

4.  P.  247.— Vid.  No.  429,  p.  53.  St.  4. 


432  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

5.  p.  248. — Vid.  No.  429,  p.  90,  St.  I. 

6.  P.  248. — When  it  was  proposed  by  Chabaneau  to  erect  a  monu- 
ment to  Born,  Paul  Meyer  remarked  that  nothing  in  his  life  mer- 
ited either  admiration  or  sympathy. 

7.  P.  248.  All  the  political  Provengal  poetry  was  personal,  not 
national,  and  so  helped  instead  of  hindering  the  dissolution  of  the 
autonomous  political  life  of  the  Midi. 

8.  P.  248. — Though  the  spirit  of  feudalism  was  opposed  to  patri- 
otism, as  we  understand  that  feeling,  feudalism  was  the  best  sys- 
tem that  Europe  was  then  prepared  for,  and  far  better  than  nothing 
at  all.  A  signal  evidence  of  its  value  is  found  in  the  experience 
of  southern  Italy  a  little  later.  Frederic  II.,  pupil  of  Innocent  III., 
destroyed  the  feudal  system  entirely  there  and  made  the  monarch 
omnipotent.  The  change  took  place  several  centuries  too  soon, 
and  the  result  was  that  when  the  invader  came,  there  was  neither 
feudal  vitality  nor  national  life  to  resist  him. 

9.  P.  249. — Knights  were  unwilling  to  be  held  back  as  a  reserve. 

ID.  P.  249. — Of  course,  mercenary  troops  did  not  mind  the  forty- 
day  limit  ;  they  fought  so  long  as  they  were  paid.  The  employ- 
ment of  such  troops  was  an  important  factor  in  the  success  of 
Henry  II. 

11.  P.  251. — Vid.  the  first  tornada.  No.  412,  p.  62. 

12.  P.  251. — Vid.  No.  412,  p.  65,  11.  35-40. 

13.  P.  252. — Vid.  No.  412,  p.  66,  St.  i.  The  expressions,  "when 
he  read  it"  (/.  e.,  Enric's  request  for  a  duchy),  and,  "  Though  fain 
to  tread  it,"  are  not  in  the  original.  "Vagrants"  expresses  the 
poet's  idea,  as  Thomas  says,  though  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme  he 
employs  a  word  {malvatz)  usually  translated  "  worthless,"  "  base." 
The  music  of  this  poem  was  from  Borneil's  Alamanda  piece.  Com- 
pare with  this  for  bitterness  Horn's  description  of  the  count  of 
Perigord  :  "  He  neither  leaps  nor  trots,  but  stays  motionless  on 
his  sandbank  ;  he  throws  neither  lance  nor  dart,  but  lives  like  a 
Lombard  [pedlar]  ;  so  slothful  is  he  that  when  others  go  off  [to 
war]  he  stretches  and  yawns."  He  was  so  bitter  because  Talairan 
had  been  leagued  with  him,  but  like  others  failed  to  come  to  his 
rescue  when  Richard  attacked  him. 

14.  P.  252. — Vid.  No.  412,  ]).  70,  St.  12. 

15.  P.  253. — How  much  influence  Rocamadour  had  on  Enric's 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXVI.  433 

condition  can  only  be  conjectured  ;  he  was  a  weak,  impressionable 
man,  committing  what  he  knew  was  mortal  sacrilege,  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  this  culmination  of  his  desperate  struggle  must  have 
filled  him  with  dismay.  Rocamadour  =  Roc-Amadour  ;  Amadour 
=  Amator  =  The  Lover  [of  Christ]. 

16.  P.  253. — Tradition  still  points  out  at  Martel  the  house  where 
Enric  died. 

17.  P.  254. — The  Lament  begins  thus:  "  i.  If  all  the  grief  and 
tears  and  affliction  and  the  woes  and  injury  and  misfortune  that 
man  [has]  had  in  this  sad  world  were  together,  they  would  all 
seem  light  compared  with  the  death  of  the  young  English  King, 
from  which  worth  and  young-heartedness  remain  sad  and  the 
world  dark,  colored,  and  shadowy,  deprived  of  all  joy,  full  of  sor- 
row and  distress.  2.  Grieving  and  sad  and  full  of  affliction  are  left 
the  courtly  soldiers,  the  troubadours,  and  the  pleasant  joglars;  truly 
have  they  had  in  death  a  deadly  enemy,  who  has  taken  from  them 
the  young  English  King  beside  whom  the  most  liberal  were  ava- 
ricious ;  never  will  there  be,  nor  think  ye  there  ever  was  in  the 
world,  weeping  or  sorrow  comparable  to  this  loss."  There  are  five 
stanzas  of  eight  lines  often  syllables  each.  The  first  line  of  every 
stanza  ends  with  marrimen  (affliction)  ;  the  fifth  with  el  jove  ret 
engles  (the  young  English  King),  and  the  eighth  with  ira  (sorrow). 

Scherillo  (No.  16,  4  ser.,  Ixx.)  holds  that  this  Lament  was  prob- 
ably not  written  by  Born,  because  (i)  he  wrote  another  Lament 
upon  Enric,  and  (2)  the  versification  is  more  elaborate  than  Born's 
usually  was  ;  but  (i)  it  was  natural  that  he  should  compose  two  La- 
ments under  the  circumstances,  and  <2)  having  written  one  he 
would  desire  to  make  the  second  a  still  better  work.  It  should  be 
remembered  that  Enric  and  his  fate  were  the  greatest  things  in 
Bom's  life.  This  Lament  is  preserved  in  only  two  MSS.,  in  one 
of  which  it  is  credited  to  Vidal. 

18.  P.  257. — Born  recognized  {leii  chan  quel  reis,  11.  19  and  20) 
that  the  course  to  which  he  urged  Enric  against  his  father  was  a 
sin. 

19.  P.  257. — We  know  that  Born  was  a  monk  on  January  8, 
1 196.  He  and  his  family  conferred  important  benefits  on  the  mon- 
astery of  Dalon  ;  in  fact  the  ground  had  belonged  to  the  fief  of 
Autafort,  and  according  to  a  tradition  (which  seems  incredible)  an 
underground  passage  led  from  the  castle  to  Dalon. 

VOL.  11 — 28. 


434  i  he  Troubadours  at  Home 

20.  p.  257. — Dante,  relying  too  implicitly  on  the  razos  attached 
to  Bern's  poems,  had  an  exaggerated  view  of  Born"s  importance, 
and  in  particular  gave  him  credit  for  an  influence  over  Henry  II. 
which  we  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  he  exercised.  The  quo- 
tation is  from  Inferno,  Canto  XXVIII. 

21.  P.  257. — The  pieces  that  we  have  from  Born  number  42  (Th.) 
or  45  (St.). 

Bertran  de  Born,  Junior,  the  first  son  by  his  father's  second  mar- 
riage, has  left  us  three  or  four  sirventes.  One  of  these  was  written 
in  1203,  and  we  know  that  he  was  alive  in  1223.  Very  likely  he 
lived  until  1230.  Possibly  some  of  the  pieces  credited  to  his  father 
were  in  fact  by  him. 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

1.  P.  259. — This  list  of  the  principal  troubadours  is  given  for  the 
sake  of  a  review,  and  I  have  coupled  with  each  name  to  give  it  con- 
tent an  epithet  that  fits  more  or  less  closely.  The  reader  should 
not  attach  too  much  value  to  the  epithet.  Dante's  list  of  trouba- 
dours included  seven  :  P.  d'Alveruhe,  B.  de  Born,  A.  Daniel,  G.  de 
Borneil,  F.  de  Marseilla,  A.  de  Belenoi,  and  A.  de  Peguilha.  Pe- 
trarch mentions  fifteen  in  his  Trionfo  d' Amove :  A.  Daniel,  A.  de 
Maruelh,  P.  Rogier,  P.  Vidal,  P.  d'Alvernhe,  G.  de  Cabestaing,  A. 
de  Peguilha,  B.  de  Ventadorn,  U.  de  Sain  Circ,  G.  Faidit,  G.  de 
Borneil,  R.  d'Aurenga,  R.  de  Vaqueiras,  J.  Rudel  F.  de  Mar- 
seilla. 

2.  P.  260. — The  picture  of  Richard  is  from  the  same  sources  as 
Henry's  (Chap.  XXXV.,  note  2).  His  costume  is  that  worn  by  him 
at  Cyprus.  Helmets  changed  their  shape  again  soon,  becoming 
at  the  time  of  the  fourth  crusade  very  much  like  a  flat-bottomed 
coal-scuttle  inverted  over  the  head. 

3.  P.  261. — Kolsen  (No.  220)  thinks  that  Borneil  may  have  been 
born  about  1138,  that  he  began  to  sing  publicly  about  1165,  that 
his  break  with  his  lady  occurred  about  1168,  that  he  was  getting 
grey  when  he  was  thirty-two.  But  as  Jeanroy  says,  we  cannot  date 
his  poems  with  precision,  and  therefore  cannot  fix  the  dates  of  his 
life.  He  must  have  been  making  verses  for  some  time  before 
1 173,  for  he  preferred  the  obscure  style  at  first  and  changed  be- 
fore R.  d'Aurenga  died  (1173).  His  break  with  the  lady  certainly 
came  before  1182.  When  discouraged  at  times  about  his  career  as 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXYII.  435 

poet  he  thought  of  going  back  to  a  life  of  study,  fie  appears  to 
have  acquired  a  good  deal  of  skill  before  he  fell  in  love  with  Esca- 
rouha.  She  was  older  than  lie  apparently.  But,  as  Appel  has  said, 
until  all  of  Borneil's  poems  are  critically  edited,  his  life  and  love 
cannot  be  told  with  complete  assurance.  He  is  supposed  to  have 
lived  until  1220. 

4.  P.  261. — Vid.  No.  358,  III.,  p.  304,  St.  I  and  2.  The  rest  is  as 
follows  :  "  Rich  I  should  be  if  I  dared  sound  her  praises  for  all  the 
world  would  gladly  hear,  but  I  fear  lest  false-hearted  talebearers, 
base  and  hard,  would  construe  it  against  me  as  an  indiscretion, — 
and  I  have  many  enemies  ;  I  do  not  wish  to  have  any  guesses 
made,  but  when  I  shall  see  one  of  her  relatives  I  will  praise  her 
till  my  mouth  burst — such  love  have  I  for  her  fair  and  joyous  per- 
son. [This  is  the  course  Dante  pursues  in  the  New  Life.'\  Forbear 
not  for  my  sake  or  for  Love's,  false  talebearers  filled  with  baseness, 
and  demand  of  whom  or  of  what  sort  is  the  honor  [shown  me], 
whether  she  is  far  or  near,  for  this  have  I  well  concealed  from  you ; 
I  would  rather  die  than  be  unfaithful  in  such  a  matter  ;  I  have  no 
friend  whom  I  would  not  deceive  in  this  ;  for  there  is  nobody  who 
does  not  usually  have  a  foolish  neighbor  seeking  to  injure  him, — 
wherefore  one  trusts  neither  father  nor  relative.  Now  slanderers 
will  say  of  me  :  '  Aha,  aha  !  How  like  a  coxcomb  he  turns  up  his 
eyes,  and  how  like  a  rich  and  haughty  lord  he  walks'  ;  but  I  think 
of  naught,  though  I  were  in  a  great  mart,  save  of  her  on  whom  my 
heart  is  set,  and  I  keep  my  eyes  turned  toward  the  land  where  she 
is  and  ever  speak  in  my  heart  of  her  on  whom  my  true  love  is 
fixed,  for  one  cannot  be  in  love  who  does  not  show  it." 

5.  P.  261. — Borneil  had  many  connections  in  Gascony.  Bernart 
of  Rovignac  was  a  patron  of  his.  He  was  living  near  Escaronha 
(or  Escaruenha)  at  the  time  of  his  love  affair.  There  has  been  a 
great  deal  of  discussion  about  her  name,  for  in  the  Proven9al  ac- 
count she  is  called  Alamanda  of  Estanc.  She  did  not  live  at  Es- 
tanc.  Alamanda  was  the  name  of  the  confidant,  a  young  lady  and 
a  poetess.  Escaronha  also  appears  to  have  made  verses,  for  we 
learn  of  the  kiss  permitted  Borneil  from  a  tenso  probably  between 
her  and  Alamanda  (Jeanroy).  Marsan  mentions  her.  As  Jeanroy 
says,  Kolsen  has  not  succeeded  in  proving  how  the  lad}'  as  well  as 
the  confidant  came  to  bear  this  name  in  the  razo. 

6.  P.  263. — Borneil  and  Alamanda  had  a  tenso  after  the  affair  of 


43^  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  glove,  the  air  of  which  was  used  by  B.  de  Born  probably  in 
1 182.     It  is  as  follows  (see  No.  220)  : 

"  If  I  come  to  you  for  counsel,  dear  friend  Alamanda,  refuse  it 
not,  for  it  is  an  afflicted  man  that  asks.  For  your  false  mistress 
has  accused  me  of  departing  far  from  her  commands  and  now  de- 
mands and  takes  from  me  what  she  gave.  How  do  you  advise  me? 
For  my  heart  is  almost  burning  within  me  for  grief,  so  deeply  am 
I  afflicted." 

"By  heaven,  Guiraut,  a  lover's  wish  is  never  accomplished  and 
guaranteed  in  a  way  so  definite  and  sure.  If  one  of  the  lovers  com- 
mit a  fault  the  other  must  overlook  it,  else  their  difference  will  grow 
and  extend.  If  she  tells  you  that  a  high  hill  is  a  moor,  believe  it. 
Find  pleasure  alike  in  the  good  and  the  ill  she  sends  you  and  then 
you  will  be  loved." 

"  I  cannot  help  complaining  when  treated  with  haughty  scorn. 
You,  young  lad}',  for  all  your  blonde  beauty,  feel  hurt  by  a  little 
pain  and  joyful  over  a  little  happiness, — but  you  are  not  involved 
in  love.  And  me — who  fear  this  grief  will  be  my  ruin — what  do 
you  advise  me  to  do  :  that  while  I  feel  I  am  perishing,  I  should 
throw  myself  still  farther  into  the  waves  ?  Methinks  you  guide 
me  badly." 

"  Before  heaven,  Guiraut,  if  you  ask  my  advice  in  so  grave  a 
situation,  I  know  not  how  to  reply.  But  if  you  think  me  satisfied 
with  little  :  I  would  rather  skin  my  own  field  than  have  another 
mow  it  [wherefore  you  had  better  sacrifice  your  pride  than  have 
some  other  suitor  get  your  lady].  And  while  I  was  eager  to-day 
to  bring  about  a  reconciliation,  you  are  seeking  to  make  her  with- 
draw her  good- will  from  you  forever." 

"  Do  stop  chattering  so,  young  lady.  When,  to  begin  with,  she 
has  failed  more  than  five  times  to  keep  her  word,  do  you  think 
that  I  am  to  endure  it  for  all  time  ?  It  would  seem  as  if  I  did  so 
because  I  had  no  other  friend.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  strike  you  if 
you  do  not  hold  your  peace.  Lady  Berenguieira  would  certainly 
give  me  better  advice  than  you  do." 

"  As  I  see  it,  Guiraut,  she  is  taking  this  time  to  pay  you  for  call- 
ing her  fickle  and  frivolous.  Do  you  imagine  that  because  3'ou 
spoke  of  her  so  she  will  beg  you  for  a  reconciliation  ?  She  is  not 
so  tame,— don't  think  it.  Even  if  I  press  her  so  hard  that  she 
ever  makes  truce  and  peace  with  you  for  this,  you  will  never  be 
able  to  make  up  with  her  again  [if  you  anger  her  again],  say  what 
you  will." 


Notes  on  Chapter  XX.W'II.  437 

"Fair  one,  in  God's  name  let  me  notlose  your  aid,  for  you  know 
how  it  was  promised  me.  If  I  have  erred  because  of  the  grief  I 
felt,  let  it  not  be  counted  against  me.  If  you  have  ever  found  how 
easily  a  lover's  heart  could  change,  and  if  you  have  ever  been 
loved,  keep  in  mind  our  reconciliation.  For  I  tell  you  truly,  I  am 
a  dead  man  if  I  have  lost  her.     But  betray  me  not  in  that  !  " 

"  Sir  Guiraut,  I  would  gladly  have  made  peace  between  you  be- 
fore this,  but  she  declares  that  she  is  justly  indignant  ;  for  like  a 
fool  you  are  openly  paying  court  to  one  who  is  not  her  equal  either 
in  beauty  or  elegance  {ni  vestida  ni  niida).  If  you  are  paying  atten- 
tions to  another,  would  she  not  be  taking  the  place  of  an  inferior, 
unless  she  dismissed  you?  And  now  that  I  have  defended  her,  I 
will  do  much  for  you  if  you  will  never  quarrel  with  her  again." 

"  Fair  one,  in  God's  name,  give  her  my  assurance  as  to  that,  if 
you  prevail  on  her  to  believe  you  in  this  affair." 

"  I  will  do  it,  indeed,  but  when  her  love  is  given  j-ou  again,  do 
not  deprive  yourself  of  it." 

I  have  followed  Appel's  interpretation  of  the  fourth  line  of  the 
third  stanza,  for  Kolsen's  does  not  seem  to  fit  the  context.  Ala- 
manda  has  just  spoken  of  two  lovers — "  the  one,"  "  the  other," — 
and  Guiraut  replies,  "You  are  neither  the  first  nor  the  second," 
i.e.,  "You  are  not  involved  in  a  love  aflFair,  and  so,  dealing  only 
with  trivial  feelings,  you  do  not  realize  how  much  this  means  to 
me  and  therefore  you  give  me  rash  counsel."  She  replies,  "  You 
think  me  incapable  of  deep  feeling;  but  if  this  were  my  case,  I 
would  rather  keep  my  lady,  no  matter  at  what  cost,  than  allow 
another  man  to  take  her  from  me."  I  prefer  Kolsen's  punctuation 
to  Appel's.     Appel  thinks  this  tenso  a.jea  d'' esprit. 

7.  P.  264. — Borneil's  reasons  for  repulsing  the  shepherdess  are 
a  paraphrase,  not  a  translation  :  see  No.  220,  p.  22.  Compare 
what  Dante  said  :  "The  lordship  of  Love  is  good  in  that  it  with- 
draweth  the  inclination  of  his  liegeman  from  all  vile  things,"  and 
also  the  saying  of  Heinrich  von  Veldeke  :  "  From  love  comes  all 
good  ;  love  makes  a  pure  mind  :  how  could  I  be  without  it  ?  " 

8.  P.  265. — For  student  songs  see  Nos.  391  and  423. 

9.  P.  266. — Among  the  twenty-four  Latin  authors  cited  by  John 
of  Salisbury  are  Sallust,  Livy,  Virgil,  Horace,  Ovid,  Juvenal, 
Terence,  and  Plautus. 

10.  P.  266. — There  reallv  existed  at  the  end  of  the  eleventh  and 


43-*^  The    rroubacloiirs  at  Home 

during  the  twelfth  century,  "  a  high  intellectual  culture,"  says 
Boutaric,  however  narrow  its  scientific  basis.  This  appears  to 
have  declined  during  the  thirteenth  century  in  consequence  of  too 
exclusive  a  devotion  to  scholasticism,  and  the  publication  of  ency- 
clopaedias— whatever  the  intention — rather  favored  superficiality 
of  learning. 

II.  r.  267. — At  the  beginning  of  our  era  there  was  an  effective 
machinery  for  the  production  and  distribution  of  books,  and  a 
Roman  gentleman  of  southern  France  could  order  through  the 
imperial  post  a  copy  of  the  latest  ode  of  Horace,  almost  as  one 
orders  a  new  book  now.  In  the  fourth  century  Rome  counted  28 
public  libraries.  St.  Pamphilius  is  supposed  to  have  had  not  less 
than  30,000  manuscripts.  Even  during  the  barbarian  invasions  a 
number  of  private  collections  existed  in  Gaul.  From  the  time  of 
St.  Pachomius  in  the  third  century  the  founders  of  religious  orders 
took  a  deep  interest  in  this  matter.  In  the  sixth  century  St. 
Ferreolus  made  this  rule  :  "He  that  does  not  turn  up  the  earth 
with  the  plow  should  write  on  parchment  with  his  fingers." 

The  lack  of  inexpensive  paper  was  the  chief  difficulty,  not  the 
want  of  printing-presses.  In  the  ninth  century  a  countess  of  Anjou 
had  to  pay  for  a  collection  of  homilies  two  hundred  sheep  and  a 
considerable  quantity  of  wheat,  rye,  and  millet.  Substitutes  for 
parchment  were  employed,  papyrus  for  instance,  as  late  as  the 
close  of  the  twelfth  century,  and  paper  of  cotton  as  early  as  the 
eleventh  or  even  the  tenth  century.  (No.  183a  states  that  papyrus 
was  not  used  after  the  tenth  century  and  that  cotton  paper  began 
to  come  from  Sicily  and  Spain  about  iioo,  but  I  have  followed  No. 
451,  as  perhaps  more  correct  about  France.)  Rag  paper,  too,  was 
known,  for  the  Venerable  Bede  wrote  :  '  The  books  that  we  read 
are  made  of  the  skins  of  rams  or  goats  or  calves,  or  of  oriental 
plants,  or  finally  of  woollen  or  linen  rags."  But  parchment  re- 
mained the  chief  reliance,  and  in  Borneil's  time  it  was  so  expensive 
that  Bernard  Itier  at  St.  Martial's  in  Limoges  wrote  his  Chronicle 
on  the  margins  of  several  hundred  older  books. 

For  all  this,  libraries  accumulated.  The  real  era  of  reading  be- 
gan in  the  sixth  century  with  St.  Benedict,  a  man  of  such  might}' 
influence  that  the  whole  period  from  Charlemagne  to  the  eleventh 
century  has  lieen  called  the  Benedictine  Age.  By  his  rule  a 
daily  reading  time  of  from  one  to  three  hours,  according  to  the 
season,  was  enjoined,  and  a  visitation  of  the  monastery  was  to  be 


Notes  on  CliiipLcr  XXX\  11.  439 

made  the  while,  so  as  to  prevent  neglect  of  the  opportunity. 
Later  orders  extended  the  use  of  the  library,  or  rather  of  the  books, 
for  the  precious  volumes  had  no  special  room  but  were  kept  in 
the  church  or  the  cloister  until  the  fourteenth  centurj-.  Every 
Cistercian  abbey  had  its  collection,  and  both  Cistercians  and  Car- 
thusians would  lend  to  persons  outside.  A  gift  of  books  to  a 
monastery  was  looked  upon  as  almost  ensuring  salvation  ;  and 
public  prayers  were  offered  for  the  donor's  welfare.  Still  the 
movement  spread.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  twelfth  century  the 
monks  were  driven  with  transcribing,  especially  in  northern 
France,  western  Germany,  and  England,  the  chief  seats  of  the 
business.  In  the  thirteenth  century  40,000  copyists  were  at  work 
in  France  alone.  The  monasteries  even  had  a  pretty  elaborate 
system  of  exchanges.  Kirchhofif  carries  the  beginnings  of  the 
Paris  book  trade  back  to  the  latter  part  of  the  eleventh  centurj-, 
and  only  a  few  years  after  Guiraut's  death  a  public  library  was 
founded  at  Narbonne  ( 1238). 

Books  varied  greatly  in  size  from  folio  to  i2mo,  especially  from 
the  twelfth  century  on.  Several  monks  were  often  employed  on 
the  same  book.  Large  works  were  often  in  several  volumes.  Red 
and  blue  were  the  colors  most  used  for  initials,  but  green  and 
yellow  also  are  found.  Figures  of  men  began  to  be  introduced 
during  the  first  half  of  the  twelfth  century,  but  were  not  very  well 
drawn,  while  the  fancy  of  the  scribes  was  inexhaustible.  The  size 
of  the  initials  indicated  in  general  the  logical  importance  of  the 
subdivision  at  the  head  of  which  they  stood,  e.g.,  paragraph, 
section,  chapter,  etc. 

In  the  Bibliothiqiie  Nationale  I  was  permitted  to  examine  a 
number  of  books  of  this  period.  One  was  the  homilies  of  St. 
Augustine  on  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  about  a  foot  and  a  half  long 
and  fourteen  inches  wide.  The  solid  oak  sides  are  entirely  covered 
with  a  sheet  of  thick  white  leather,  projecting  at  the  top  and 
brought  around  the  front  in  a  liberal  flap.  Two  clasps  of  leather 
ending  in  heavj'  ornaments  of  brass  hold  the  book  together, 
and  five  bosses  of  the  same  metal  with  big  ribbed  heads  ornament 
the  sides  and  hold  the  leather  to  the  boards.  Another  book  was  a 
German  livre  d'heurcs  (about  1200)  of  a  circular  shape,  about  eight 
inches  in  diameter,  with  a  clasp  of  brass.  Another  was  a  beautiful 
Sacrementaire .  In  each  cover  of  this,  within  a  border  of  conven- 
tional acanthus  leaves  in  silver,  were  set  nine  squares  of  ivory 
about   two  inches  wide    and    two   and  a  half  long,  separated  by 


440  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

narrow  ribbed  bands  of  silver  ;  they  were  carved  in  fine  detail  to  rep- 
resent scenes  in  the  life  of  a  prelate.  Still  another  was  the  Psalter 
of  Charles  the  Bald.  The  covers,  older  than  the  MS.,  were  done 
by  Liuthard  between  the  years  842  and  869.  On  each  cover  is  an 
ivory  plaque  full  of  people  cut  with  exquisite  skill  and  admirably 
grouped,  illustrating  on  one  side  the  fifty-sixth  Psalm,  and  on  the 
other  the  story  of  David  and  Nathan  ;  and  around  each  plaque 
runs  a  wide  border  of  silver  delicately  wrought  and  studded  with 
precious  stones.  Still  another  was  a  Valerius  Maximus,  done  at 
Provins  in  1167  by  Guillelmus  Anglicus,  about  nine  by  twelve 
inches  in  size.  The  writing  is  in  two  columns  half  an  inch  apart, 
about  nine  inches  high,  and  surrounded  with  a  margin  of  about  an 
inch  and  a  half.  Four  light  vertical  lines  of  brown,  drawn  nearly 
to  the  edges,  indicate  the  limits  of  the  columns,  while  similar  hori- 
zontal lines  across  the  middle  part  of  the  page,  but  not  across  the 
margins,  guided  the  copyist's  hand.  Holes  pricked  at  the  edges 
made  it  possible  to  draw  these  lines  so  that  they  correspond  exactly 
on  the  two  sides  of  the  leaf.  The  letters  beginning  paragraphs  are 
alternately  red  and  blue,  and  stand  partly,  or  wholly,  in  the  margin. 
On  many  of  the  pages  a  running  title  in  a  cursive  hand  appears  at 
the  top,  while  the  text  is  in  square  characters.  Leaves,  not  pages, 
are  numbered.  A  general  table  of  contents  stands  at  the  begin- 
ning, and  its  own  table  at  the  head  of  each  chapter  with  a  title  in 
red  and  a  fine  initial.  Here  and  there  are  marginal  notes.  At  the 
very  eud  are  the  copyist's  signature  and  the  date.  I  have  described 
this  volume  minutely  because  we  know  it  was  made  at  the  time  we 
are  most  concerned  with.  A  curious  evidence  of  the  interest  in 
books  at  this  period  is  a  work  called  The  Book  of  the  Pious,  writ- 
ten about  1 190  by  a  Jew  of  Regensburg,  which  devotes  a  part  of 
its  ethical  precepts  to  the  care  of  books. 

12.  P.  269.— Robert,  bishop  of  Lincoln,  was  cited  by  Vincent  de 
Beauvais  as  knowing  Greek.  Vincent  had  a  good  deal  to  say  of 
certain  Greeks,  particularly  Homer,  Hesiod,  ^sop,  Sophocles, 
Xenophon,  Plato,  Socrates,  and,  above  all,  Aristotle  ;  but  his  in- 
formation was  exceedingly  inaccurate. 

13.  P.  269.— I  have  no  authority  for  the  contents  of  Borneil's 
library.  It  should  be  added  that  not  even  Borneil's  poetry  shows 
any  shaping  traceable  to  classical  poets. 

14.  P.  270.— Borneil's  tenso  with  Amfos  was  thought  until  re. 
cently  to  have  been  with  Peire  II.,  his  sou. 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXYII.  441 

15.  P.  271. — Boemund  III.  Borneil  seems  more  interested  in 
the  knightly  than  the  religious  aspect  of  the  crusade. 

16.  r.  271. — OfBorneil's  appearance  we  know  only  what  Peire 
d'Alvernhe  says,  and  that  he  was  grey  early. 

17.  P.  273. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  So,  St.  I  and  2.  The  poet  concludes 
by  saying,  "  She  can  restore  me  and  my  senses  if  she  would  deign 
to  care  for  me,"  etc.,  but  it  does  not  seem  possible  to  suppose  that 
the  piece  was  written  seriously. 

i8.  P.  274. — A  literal  translation  of  the  tenso  between  Borneil 
and  Linhaure  (R.  d'Aurenga)  is  as  follows  (see  No.  220)  : 

"  I  should  now  be  glad  to  know,  Guiraut  de  Borneil,  wh}-  and 
from  what  point  of  view  you  condemn  the  obscure  stj'le  of  poetry  ? 
Tell  me  :  do  you  prize  so  highly  that  which  all  possess  alike  ?  Were 
that  the  condition  of  things,  all  would  be  equal." 

"  Sir  Linhaure,  I  do  not  complain  if  everyone  compose  after  his 
own  taste,  but  my  judgment  is  that  poetry  is  more  loved  and  prized 
if  it  is  simple  and  easily  understood  ;  and  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
take  my  opinion  ill  [/'.  <?.,  be  offended]." 

"  Guiraut,  I  am  not  willing  that  my  songs  create  such  confusion 
that  people  shall  love  the  bad  as  much  as  the  good,  and  the  small 
as  the  great.  B3'  fools  they  will  never  be  praised,  for  such  do  not 
understand  or  have  any  concern  with  what  is  dearer  and  better 
[than  the  ordinary]." 

"Linhaure,  when  I,  to  make  m^-  songs  clear,  sit  up  all  night 
and  turn  repose  into  toil,  does  it  look  as  if  I  were  afraid  that  [stand- 
ards would  be  upset  and]  confusion  would  result  ?  Why  do  3'ou 
compose  a  song  if  you  are  not  pleased  to  have  the  world  understand 
at  once?     A  song  wins  no  prize  but  that." 

"Guiraut,  if  only  I  prepare  and  utter  and  bring  out  the  best 
thing,  it  matters  little  to  me  whether  it  is  so  widely  known,  for 
commonness  was  never  a  merit.  For  that  reason  men  prize  gold 
more  than  salt,  and  with  songs  it  is  the  same." 

Guiraut  protests,  and  then  the   poets   turn  to  another  subject. 

Kolsen  thinks  that  this  tenso  was  composed  about  Christmas, 
1168.  It  is  worth  noting  that  Borneil  composed  a  Lament  on 
Raimbaut's  death.  Elsewhere,  Borneil  stated  the  requisites  for  a 
good  song  to  be  a  loving  heart,  a  suitable  time  and  place,  and  the 
approbation  of  noble  patrons. 

With  Raimbaut's  opinions  compare   what    E.   Cairel   said:  "I 


442  The  Troubadours  at  lioine 

know  well  that  a  song  with  easy  rhymes  would  best  please  those 
who  are  not  connoisseurs,  who  esteem  what  is  not  excellent, — but 
the  able  wish  to  criticise,  condemn,  and  reject  ;  and  I  tell  you  I 
should  not  be  sorry  were  that  overwise  clique  {coven)  torn  up 
root  and  branch,  for  it  is  destroying  excellence  and  gladness" 
— a  lesson  on  judicious  criticism.  Compare  also  Cigala's  view  : 
"  Knowledge  is  of  little  worth  if  it  shine  not  clearly  ;  for  we  count 
darkness  as  death,  but  life  returns  with  the  light.  So  I  sing 
plainly  both  summer  and  winter."  Of  course  metrical  difficulties 
lay  too  near  the  central  idea  of  Provencal  verse  not  to  be  studied, 
and  few  poets  failed  to  try  in  more  songs  or  less  to  show  themselves 
masters  in  the  hard  style. 

19.  P.  276. — This  king  of  Castile  was  Amfos  VIII.,  who  died  in 
1 2 14.  The  poet  intimates  that  three  kings  had  a  hand  in  his  de- 
spoiling. 

20.  P.  276. — It  is  curious  to  note  that  Borneil  was  robbed  of  his 
library  by  the  grandson  of  Bernart  de  Ventadorn's  Margarida  ; 
this  took  place  in  1211,  when  Gui  V.  retook  the  castle  of  Excideuil. 

21.  P.  276. — Vid.  No.  358,  IV.,  p.  290,  St.  r  and  3.  LI.  3  and  4,  ///., 
"  to  rally  and  turn  again  nobleness  which  is  in  exile  "  ;  11.  13  and 
14,  lit.,  "  and  the  best  blows  talked  of  for  a  time."  Another  piece 
on  the  same  subject  (written  after  his  experience  in  Navarre)  begins 
thus  :  ' '  The  sweet  song  of  a  bird  that  was  singing  in  a  hedge  turned 
mefrom  my  path  the  other  day  and  led  me  on  ;  and  near  the  enclos- 
ure where  the  little  bird  was,  three  maidens  together  lamented  in 
singing  the  excess  and  the  decadence  that  have  befallen  joy  and  so- 
cial life  [solatz) ;  and  I  approached  faster,  the  better  to  hear  the  song, 
and  I  spoke  to  them  thus  :  '  Maidens,  of  what  do  you  sing,  and  of 
what  do  you  complain  ? '  "  Then  follows  a  discussion  upon  social 
degeneracy.  (Vid.  No.  41,  p.  99.)  The  evils  especially  lamented 
by  Borneil  were  :  the  self-seeking  and  illiberality  of  the  nobles; 
their  unsociableness  and  hostility  to  each  other,  their  failure  to 
welcome  and  reward  the  poets  and  maintain  joyous  festivals,  the 
tendency  to  prize  a  lively  tale  as  highly*  as  a  fine  song,  to  think 
lightly  of  ladies,  to  esteem  the  rude  more  than  the  high-minded, 
etc.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  very  earliest  of  the  trou- 
badours complained  of  the  decadence  of  the  times. 

22.  P.  277. — Dante  said  that  only  "  fools"  {i.  e.,  those  ignorant 
of  the  matter)  preferred  Borneil  to  Daniel,  influenced  by  "rumor  " 
and  the  "  popular  voice." 


XuLes  un  Chapter  XXXX'll.  443 

23.  P.  277. — The  Proven5al  biography  indicates  as  Borneil's 
special  merits,  "subtle  sayings,  well  expressed,  upon  love  and 
good  sense." 

24.  P.  278. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  91.  I  give  the  whole.  The  music 
is  in  a  popular,  melodious  style,  such  as  may  be  heard  of  an  eve- 
ning now  under  balconies  in  Sicily.  It  is  from  MS.  R.  (Restori),  of 
about  1300  A.  D.  "  Rival  "  stands  for  "the  jealous  one,"  and  re- 
fers no  doubt  to  the  husband  ;  I  have  avoided  the  latter  word 
because  without  due  regard  to  the  nature  of  marriage  and  social 
standards  at  that  time  it  w^ould  make  the  song  give  an  impression 
not  conveyed  at  the  time.  .\s  Canello  says,  "  Giraldo  de  Borneil 
con  inco7tscio  sen  so  del  giusto  fa  invocar  Dio  perchi  protegga  quel 
diritto  natm-ale  di  amarsi,  in  odio  alle  usurpazioni  e pretese  legali 
d^un  matriinotiio  cut  era inancata  la  base  dinatjira  cioh  lasan- 
zione  veramente  divinoy  A  literal  translation  is  as  follows  :  "  i. 
Glorious  King,  true  light  and  clearness,  powerful  God,  Lord,  if  it 
please  you,  be  a  faithful  helper  to  my  comrade  whom  I  have  not 
seen  since  the  night  was  come,  and  scon  it  will  be  the  dawn.  2. 
Fair  comrade,  whether  you  sleep  or  wake,  sleep  no  more,  sweetly 
wake,  for  in  the  east  I  see  the  star  waxed  that  brings  the  day,  for 
well  I  have  recognized  it,  and  soon,  etc.  3.  Fair  comrade,  in  sing- 
ing I  call  you  ;  sleep  no  more,  for  I  hear  sing  the  bird  that  goes 
looking  for  day  through  the  copse,  and  I  fear  lest  the  jealous  one 
assail  you,  and  soon,  etc.  4.  Fair  comrade,  come  to  the  window 
and  behold  the  stars  of  the  sky  ;  you  will  perceive  whether  I  am  a 
faithful  messenger  to  you.  If  you  do  it  not,  yours  will  be  the  hurt 
from  it,  and  soon,  etc.  5.  Fair  comrade,  since  I  parted  from  you 
I  have  not  slept,  nor  moved  from  m^'  knees,  but  have  prayed  God, 
the  son  of  Holy  Mary,  that  He  restore  you  to  me  for  loyal  fellow- 
ship, and  soon,  etc.  6.  P'air  comrade,  out  there  at  the  platform 
[above  the  steps]  you  prayed  me  not  to  be  drows}-,  but  to  wake  all 
night  till  day,  but  now  my  song  and  my  companionship  do  not 
please  von,  and  soon,  etc.  7.  Fair,  sweet  comrade,  I  am  in  so  rich 
a  sojourn  that  I  would  not  there  should  ever  be  morning  or  day, 
for  the  fairest  ever  born  of  woman  I  hold  and  caress,  wherefore  I 
lightly  prize  that  foolish  jealous  one  and  the  dawn."  The  point 
of  the  song  lies,  of  course,  in  the  contrast  between  the  lover's  real 
danger  and  the  delight  that  could  make  him  despise  it. 

We  have  about  80 pieces  from  Borneil,  viz.  :  18  sirventes,  20  vers, 
7  sirvente-cansons,    28  cansons,    3  tensos,  and   several  unclassed. 


444  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

1.  p.  281. — There  has  been  a  great  deal  of  discussion  about  the 
time  when  St.  Front  was  begun,  and  the  dates  vary  from  984  to 
1150.  See,  forexample.  No.  5,  1895,  p.  5,  and  1897,  p.  75.  There  is 
also  doubt  about  the  dates  of  other  structures,  but  I  have  taken 
those  which  seem  to  have  the  best  support.  The  picture  of  old 
P^rigueux  shows  the  condition  of  things  about  1890. 

2.  P.  283.— Perigueux  reminds  us  of  Elias  Cairel,  who  flourished 
about  1220-1230,  and  has  left  us  some  fifteen  lyrics.  He  was  a 
gold  and  silver  worker  of  Sarlat,  and  in  that  place  he  died.  Dur- 
ing his  life  he  is  said  to  have  visited  all  the  "  inhabited  world.'' 
He  lived  in  Monferrat  with  Guilhem  IV.,  and  probably  visited  the 
orient.  One  account  says,  "He  sang  badly,  composed  badly, 
played  the  viol  badly,  and  talked  yet  worse  ;  only  he  transcribed 
verses  and  music  well."  Another  account  says  that  he  was  not 
esteemed  according  to  his  deserts,  because  he  had  a  disdain  for 
barons  and  the  world  iu  general,  but  that  he  was  really  acute  and 
well  taught.     His  poems  are  respectable. 

3.  P.  284. — Las  Leys  Daniors  (or  Flors  del  Gai  Saber)  was  com- 
piled b}'  Guilhem  Molinier,  secretary  or  chancellor  of  the  society 
established  in  Toulouse  in  1323  (Chap.  XX.).  It  contains  three 
parts  :  Grammar,  Metric,  and  Rhetoric.  Though  full  of  scholastic 
divisions  and  subdivisions  it  is  a  work  of  great  value  to  us. 

4.  P.  284. — "Classical  prosody."  As  all  know,  this  system  was 
not  native  in  Latin,  but  was  taken  over  from  the  Greek.  Latin 
verse  was  probably  originally  based  on  accent,  and  in  post-classical 
times  reverted  toward  the  primitive  type.  The  popular  Latin 
poetry  from  the  fourth  to  the  twelfth  century,  was  based  on  accent 
andnumber  of  syllables,  and  shows  a  regular  alternation  of  stressed 
and  unstressed  syllables.  The  earliest  specimen  of  this  verse  is 
the  song  of  Caesar's  soldiers:  '^  Ecce  Ccesar  nunc  triumphat  qui 
subegit  Gal  lias, '^  etc. 

5.  P.  284. — "Theories."  Lauier,  for  example,  held  that  English 
prosody  is  based  not  on  accent  but  on  quantity. 

6.  P.  284. — The  transition  from  classical  to  Romance  prosody 
seems  to  have  taken  place  about  thus  :  i.  Even  earlier  than  the 
third  century  the  feeling  for  quantity  began  to  be  lost,  and  most 
of  the  errors  of  versification  were  due  to  the  influence  of  the  accent ; 
2.  From  faulty  metres  the  poets  went  on  to  verses  that  reproduced 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXVIII.  445 

only  the  distribution  of  the  accents  of  classical  poetry.  Perhaps 
it  may  also  be  said  that  the  intention  or  the  effect  was  to  place 
accents  where  the  long  syllables  came  in  the  classical  verse. 

7.  P.  284. — "  Number  of  syllables."  Monosyllabiclines  were,  of 
course,  employed  only  for  peculiar  effects.  Lines  of  two  syllables 
are  very  seldom  found.  The  Laws  of  Love  do  not  recognize  less 
than  four  ;  live  are  not  infrequent,  but  six  are  much  more  common. 
The  earliest  lyrics  appear  to  have  had  seven  :  we  find  this  number 
in  Marcabru,  for  example;  and  later  it  was  used  in  alternation 
with  eight.  Eight  and  ten  syllables  are  extremely  common,  and 
nine  very  rare.  Eleven  are  not  infrequent.  Once  we  find  four- 
teen, but  this  metre  was  really  seven  syllables  doubled  without 
rhyme  in  the  middle. 

8.  P.  285. — "Word  accent."  In  eight-syllable  verse  there  was 
often  a  pretty  regular  iambic  movement,  but  almost  or  quite 
never  in  verse  of  ten  syllables.  This  feature  is  of  course  very 
complicated.  Accent  was  not  exactly  the  same  thing  in  any  case 
to  the  Provencals  as  it  is  to  us.  The  Laws  of  Love  say,  "The 
accent  is  a  regular  melody  or  manner  of  the  voice  attaching  itself 
specially  to  one  syllable,"  and  go  on  to  add  that  accentuation  was 
a  manner  of  singing,  even  in  reading  and  speaking.  This  takes 
us  back  to  the  fundamental  difference  between  our  own  manner 
of  speech  and  that  of  the  Romance  people.  Still,  as  Stengel  says, 
when  an  even  number  of  syllables  precedes  the  accented  one  there 
is  naturally  a  trochaic  movement ;  and  when  the  number  is  odd, 
an  iambic  movement. 

9.  P.  285. — "Line  accent."  The  optional  extra  syllable  after 
an  accent  signified  nothing.  In  counting  syllables  where  two 
vowels  in  successive  words  came  together  (hiatus)  sometimes  the 
first  was  regularly  elided  (and  the  two  words  written  together, 
since  the  apostrophe  was  unknown);  sometimes  the  two  were 
sounded  and  counted  as  one  ;  sometimes  both  were  sounded,  and 
counted  as  two.  The  first  method  was  most  usual,  and  the  verse 
gained  an  appearance  of  evenness  and  smoothness.  Hiatus  is 
found  now  and  then  in  the  best  poets,  especially  when  one  of  the 
words  is  a  monosyllable  ;  and,  in  fact,  Pleines  has  found  that  the 
usage  regarding  hiatus  and  elision  was  quite  irregular. 

10.  P.  285. — The  division  of  lines  %vas  as  follows  :  9  =  4  -|-  5  or 
54-4  (but  this  metre  was  not  considered  agreeable) ;  8  =  4  +  4  (but, 


446  The  IVoubadours  at  Home 

as  Gaston  Paris  says,  this  line  early  lost  the  division  into  two  hemi- 
sticbs)  ;  10  =  4  +  6,  5  -j-  5,  or  6  +  4  (the  first  being  most  com- 
mon and  the  last  having  a  solemn  effect)  ;ii  =7  +  4,  8  +  3,  5  + 
6,  or  sometimes  6  -j-  5  ;  12  =  6  -j-  6,  except  in  one  poem.  The 
two  accents  of  the  line  were  always  well  marked  from  the  earliest 
times  (though  in  the  7  -|-  4  metre  the  first  accent  was  sometimes 
dropped)  ;  but  the  pause  (caesura)  was  frequently  disregarded. 
Poets  differed,  of  course,  in  strictness.  Thus  in  4  -[-  6  there  should 
be  an  evident  pause  just  after  the  accent,  but  many  popular  poets 
introduced  there  an  unaccented  (and  uncounted)  syllable,  and 
some  committed  the  error  of  placing  the  pause  after  an  unaccented 
but  counted  syllable.  The  eleven-syllable  metre  was  often  broken 
up  by  interior  rhymes,  and  so,  in  fact,  were  other  metres.  Lines 
of  eight  or  more  syllables  were  called  Major  ;  those  of  less  than 
eight,  Minor. 

II.  P.  285. — "The  rhyme."  Only  perfect  rhymes  were  permit- 
ted ;  but  a  word  could  be  repeated  in  a  different  sense, — in  fact 
this  was  a  feature  of  the  "rich  rhyme"  (Bartsch).  Narrative 
poetry  was  usually  in  couplets,  or  else  many  lines  rhymed  to- 
gether. The  sestine  was  the  only  unrhymed  verse,  and  this  was 
the  only  form  in  which  the  number  of  stanzas  was  positively 
fixed.  Assonance  was  tolerated  only  in  the  case  of  monosyllables, 
and  in  dissyllables  like  greater :  sailor.  Polysyllabic  lines  are 
found.  Feminine  rhymes  could  be  made  up  of  two  words, — nation  : 
may  shun.  Alliteration,  the  great  device  of  Anglo-Saxon  verse, 
was  not  much  practised  ;  but  simple  forms,  either  intentional  or 
accidental,  are  not  uncommon.  Alliteration  was,  however,  used 
systematically  in  a  poem  by  G.  Azemar.  The  names  "  masculine  " 
and  "feminine  "  rhymes  may  have  come  from  the  Proven9al,  for 
monosyllables  often  became  dissyllables  in  the  feminine  :  bets, 
beta.  Grammatical  rhyme  was  allowable,  i.  e.,  different  inflec- 
tional forms  of  the  same  word  ;  e.  g.,  verais  :  veraia.  Leonine 
rhymes  were  not  frequent.  A  word  might  be  broken  at  the  end 
of  a  line,  e.  g.,  aten-:  dre  garinicn.  Cases  are  found  where  both 
the  first  and  the  last  words  of  a  line  rhyme.  The  acrostic  did  not 
appear  until  the  fourteenth  century.  The  "hard"  rhymes  seem 
to  have  been  accompanied  with  difficult  music.  Here  is  a  specimen 
from  Daniel :  "  En  breu  brizaral  temps  braus  \  El  bizel  bruniel  e 
brancs  \  Qui  s* entresenhon  trastng  \  Desobre  clans  reins  defolha,^^ 
etc.   Some  parts  of  the  Midi  showed  a  liking  for  assonance(Stengel). 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXVI II.  447 

12.  P.  286.  — "Standard  metres."  Occasionally  a  new  metre  be- 
came .so  famous  that  another  poet  than  the  inventor  wished  to  try 
his  hand  at  it.  So,  for  example,  Born  imitated  Borneil,  taking 
care  to  say  in  whose  manner  he  was  writing.  Sometimes  even  the 
rhymes  of  the  pattern  were  followed. 

13.  P.  286.  —  "The  poem"  was  called /roi^ar  (literally,  \.o  find, 
i.  c,  something  found,  trobar  being  the  regular  word  for  a  lyrical 
composition,  Ironi  which  comes  irobaire,  accusative  trobador,  in 
French  troubadour,  a.  finder,  a  lyric  poet)  or  obra,  a  work.  The 
tune  was  called  so,  son,  or  sometimes  sonet.  The  sonnet  form  of 
verse  was  not  known. 

14.  P.  2S6. — According  to  the  Leys  Damors,  stanzas  could  be 
rhymed  by  fours,  fives,  etc.,  though  the  great  troubadours  did  not 
leave  such  examples.  Sometimes  (A.  de  Maruelh)  they  were 
rhymed  in  3  +  2.  A  part  of  the  rhymes  could  run  through  the 
whole  piece  while  others  changed.  In  a  few  poems  we  find  a 
complete  change  in  the  middle,  corresponding  to  a  change  of 
subject-matter.  A  particularly  ingenious  scheme  from  Daude  de 
Pradas  goes  thus  :  i.  abbaccdd;  2,  ccddabba;3,  baab 
ddcc;4,  ddccbaab;  5,  adcbcbda;  6,  bacddcab. 

15.  P.  287. — The  descort  (see  below)  was  an  exception  to  this 
rule. 

16.  P.  287. — These  rhymes  are  from  Gavaudan  the  Old  (1195- 
1215),  who  has  left  us  about  ten  pieces,  among  which  is  a  fine 
crusading-song  (1210)  against  the  Moors,  the  best  called  forth  by 
that  subject.  We  know  nothing  of  him  except  the  very  little  that 
can  be  gathered  from  his  songs. 

17.  P.  287. — The  following  from  Peire  Vidal  is  curious  : 

Que  fan     Vefan      d'aquela  gent  Engleza 
qu'avan     no  van    guerrajar  ab  Frances 
mat  an      talan       de  la  terr'  Engolnieza, 
tiran  Iran        conquistar  Gastines,  etc. 

The  following  from  Faidit  is  one  stanza  out  of  six  on  the  same 
rhymes  :  "  D'un  dotg  bell  plaser  \  plasent  \  inovon  miei  cant  ver  \ 
valent  \gient:  \  car  si  mos  solats  \  platz  \  alsben  credentg  \  nisHeu 
be  I  fas  re  \  de  niidons  me  ve,  \  cui  no  soi  grasire  ;  \  liei  desire  \  si 
c'alhor  |  nwn  desir  no  vire,  \  car  lieis  am  e  lieis  ador  \  e  causisc 
per  la  megliory 

Stengel  thinks  that  all  the  stanza-forms  were    developed   from 


448  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  single-rhyme  strophe.  As  in  other  things,  the  troubadours  dif- 
fered iu  their  originality  regarding  stanza-forms.  In  eighty  pieces 
left  by  Borneil,  there  are  fifty-four  forms  that  appear  nowhere  else, 
while  nearly  all  of  Cardinal's  forms  are  found  elsewhere.  P.  d'Al- 
vernhe  said  expressly  that  no  song  was  very  good  which  was  like 
(in  form)  any  other.  A  favorite  device  with  some  troubadours  was 
the  repetition  of  the  same  word  in  different  forms,  as  in  this  from 
Guilhem  Azemar  :  ^^  Comensameti  comensarai  \  Comensan  pus 
comensar  saiy  Cardinal  has  a  line  in  which  every  word  begins 
with  /.  Then  there  were  many  far-fetched  intricacies  iu  the  later 
days,  such  as  making  the  last  line  of  each  stanza  a  quotation  from 
some  famous  poem. 

Refrain  was  not  original  with  the  troubadours.  It  is  found  in 
Latin  hymns,  and  was  no  doubt  used  in  popular  poetry.  Its  emo- 
tional value,  to  impress  the  central  idea  by  many  repetitions,  was 
too  great  to  be  overlooked. 

18.  P.  288. — The  tornada  was  something  new.  The  name,  like 
the  Italian  volta,  signified  a  return  to  the  melody  of  the  stanza 
that  preceded.  It  was  often  addressed  to  a  friend,  a  messenger,  a 
lady,  a  patron.     Sometimes  it  was  a  remark  upon  the  poem  itself. 

19.  P.  288. — Suchier  speaks  of  the  tripartition  of  the  stanza  as 
observed  more  strictly  by  German  mediaeval  poets  than  by  the 
troubadours. 

20.  P.  288. — Dante's  rule  about  the  division  of  the  stanza  as 
stated  in  his  De  Vulg.  Eloq.  is  :  "  Si  ante  dieresim  (hafic  vottam 
vocamus  cum  vulgus  alloquitnnr)  repetitio  fiat,  stantiam  dicinius 
habere  pedes  ;  et  duos  habere  decet, — licet  quandoque  tres  fiant, 
rarissime  tatnen.  Si  repetitio  fiat  post  dieresim,  tunc  dicinius  stan- 
tiam habere  versus.  Si  ante  nonfiat  repetitio,  stantiam  dicimus 
habere  frontem ;  si  post  non  fiat,  dicimus  habere  syrma  sive 
caudemy  See  also  the  notes  on  Chaps.  XII.  and  XXXIV.  ;  and 
for  a  specimen,  note  G.  de  Borneil's  Alba  in  Chap.  XXXVU.,  at 
the  end. 

21.  P.  289. — The  extreme  variety  and  richness  of  troubadour 
forms  was  partly  due,  of  course,  to  the  formal  character  of  the 
subject-matter,  but  was  really  owing  to  no  single  cause,  but  to 
many  of  the  causes  that  made  Provencal  poetry  what  it  was. 

22.  P.  289. — Marcabru  said,  "  Marcabru  knows  how  to  turn  and 
intertwine  meaning  and  verse  in  such  a  manner  that  no  one  else 


Notes  on  Chapte:;!"  XXX  \  I  1  1.  449 

can  take  a  single  word  away."  Perdigo  said  to  the  joglar,  "  My 
son,  I  charge  you  on  your  honor,  take  good  care  that  you  under- 
stand the  work  and  do  not  deface  it." 

23.  P.  289. — The  "song"  {canson}  devoted  mainly  to  love,  had 
five,  six,  or  seven  stanzas,  made  up  either  of  ten-syllable  lines,  or 
else  of  a  mixture,  and  with  both  kinds  of  rhyme  in  the  greatest 
freedom. 

The  vers,  the  oldest  name  for  a  poem,  was  much  like  the  canson, 
but  in  general  more  simple  and  slower  iu  movemeut.  Any  topic 
might  be  its  theme.  According  to  the  Laws  of  Love,  it  should 
have  from  five  to  ten  stanzas,  besides  two  tornadas.  Eight  or  nine 
iambic  syllables  were  the  rule,  with  masculine  rhymes,  but  the 
name  vers  was  rather  loosely  used.  (According  to  the  biography 
of  Peire  d'  Alvernhe,  G.  de  Borneil  made  the  first  canson  ;  vers 
was  the  word  until  then.) 

The  direct  antithesis  of  the  canson  was  the  sirvente,  sirventes 
(I  have  used  the  word  sirvente  instead  of  the  Provencal  sirventes 
in  the  text  in  the  hope  of  making  an  English  word  of  it),  a  poem 
of  praise  or  censure  ;  public  or  private  ;  personal,  moral  or  re- 
ligious, or  political  ;  entirely  free  as  regards  form.  In  replying 
to  a  sirvente,  a  poet  was  bound  to  use  the  same  form.  vSpecial 
forms  of  the  sirvente  were  the  Lament  {planh),  which  was  original 
with  the  troubadours  (vSpringer),  and  the  crusading-song.  A  piece 
specially  composed  for  a  joglar  might  be  called  sirventes  joglaresc. 
The  sirvente  was  originally  composed,  it  is  now  held,  by  a  sirvent, 
i.  e.,  a  paid  soldier  of  adventure,  as  the  joglar  was  a  paid  enter- 
tainer. This  is  probably  the  correct  explanation  of  the  name,  a 
point  much  debated.  (See  No.  27,  18S1,  p.  264.)  As  Jeanro}'  says 
(No.  19,  CLL),  about  every  event  of  importance  to  the  Midi  from 
1 150  until  almost  1300  left  its  mark  in  the  sirventes  of  the  time. 

24.  P.  289. — The  poetical  debate  was  called  tenso  {lit.,  dispute), 
or  partinien  (joe  partit).  The  two  terms  were  not  exactly  equiva- 
lent, however.  In  the  teftso,  the  poets  spoke  their  real  sentiments 
and  ideas,  and  very  likely  each  wrote  a  whole  poem.  The  pan'i- 
fnen  was  to  the  tenso  like  the  tournament  to  the  battle.  One  poet 
proposed  a  debatable  question  (to  which,  originally  and  strictly, 
the  name  parlimcn  belonged,  as  Zenker  contends),  and  allowed 
the  other  disputant  to  choose  his  side  ;  thej-  then  composed  stanzas 
in  turn.  Jeanroy  thinks  it  probable  that  Wie partinien  originated 
in  northern  France,  and  Stimming  holds  that  in  the  Midi  this  kind 

VOL.  II. — 2g 


450  The  Troul)adours  at  Home 

of  poem  began  after  it8o  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  difficult  not 
to  believe  that  from  the  earliest  times  of  Provencal  poetry  impro- 
vised debates  in  verse  were  an  amusement  of  social  gatherings. 
Ambitious  poets  were  eager  to  match  their  skill,  and  a  company 
of  lively,  quick-witted  people  would  enjoy  nothing  better  than 
such  a  contest.  Certainly,  in  its  actual  form,  the  tenso  was  pecu- 
liar to  Provencal  poetry  (Stimming). 

The  word  hnso  w  as  also  used  in  a  generic  sense  covering  parti- 
men  also.  In  case  there  were  more  than  two  disputants  (there  were 
three  in  several  cases,  and  four  twice)  the  word  forneymeJi  has  been 
employed,  but  it  should  be  discarded.  Sometimes  one  or  both  of 
the  contestants  were  not  real  people,  but,  for  example.  Love,  God, 
the  heart,  a  horse,  or  even  a  mantle.  The  second  speaker  was 
obliged  to  use  the  form  and  the  rhymes  adopted  by  the  first. 
Poems  of  this  kind  were  not,  necessarily,  accompanied  with  music. 
The  appeal  to  one  or  more  judges  at  the  close  of  the  partitnen  was 
sometimes  only  to  pay  a  compliment.  Very  few  actual  decisions 
are  recorded,  but  if  the  decision  was  referred  to  some  one  on  the 
spot  a  judgment  might  be  given  at  once,  and  Jeanroy  thinks  this 
the  usual  way.  In  some  cases,  probably,  the  disputants  were  not 
at  the  same  place,  so  that  it  was  in  effect  a  discussion  by  corre- 
spondence. Probably  none  of  the  tensos  that  we  have  were  ex- 
temporaneous. The  singing  or  reciting  oi  a.  partimen  seems  always 
to  have  been  done  b^'  a  single  person,  not  in  dialogue.  We  find 
from  two  to  eight  stanzas,  but  six  more  often  than  any  other  num- 
ber. There  were  frequently  two,  and  sometimes  four,  tornadas,  so 
that  each  speaker  might  have  six  turns.  We  find  from  four  to  thir- 
teen lines  in  a  stanza,  and  also  fifteen  and  twenty-one  ;  but  eight 
was  the  most  common  number,  and  ten  was  next.  Ten  syllables 
were  most  usual,  and  then  seven,  and  eight.  (If  love  were  the  sub- 
ject, a partitnen  might  be  caW&A  joe  d' amor.) 

25.  P.  291. — Many  other  special  names  were  used  for  poems  of 
special  sorts.  The  most  important  were  \healba,  morning-song; 
the  Serena,  evensong ;  the  balada,  dancing-song ;  the  descort,  a 
piece  in  irregular  form,  particularly  devoted  to  unrequited  love 
(see  No.  31,  XI.,  p.  212);  the  canson  redonda  (round),  a  piece  in 
which  the  last  line  of  each  stanza  became  the  first  line  of  the  next ; 
the  escondich,  a  piece  in  which  the  poet  justified  himself  to  a 
lady  ;  the  comjat,  a  farewell  to  a  lady  when  the  poet  ceased  to 
love  her  ;  the  devinalh,  a  piece  playing  on  words  that  involved 
constant  apparent  contradictions  ;    the   earros  (war-car),    a    piece 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXIX.  451 

representing  the  poet's  lady  as  attacked  by  other  ladies  ;  the  prezi- 
cavsa,  a  summons  to  some  warlike  undertaking  ;  the  expositio,  a 
versified  explanation  of  an  obscure  passage  in  some  poem  ;  the 
roman,  any  long  poem,  not  in  stanzas,  except  the  next  two  (see  No. 
31,  X.,  p.  485)  ;  the  novas  (news),  narrative  poetry  and  even  moral 
and  didactic  pieces  ;  the  breii,  or  letra,  a  letter,  called  also  saint, 
if  it  began  with  a  formal  salutation,  and  dofiairc,  if  it  began  and 
ended  with  the  word  dona,  lady  ;  the  comic,  narrative  or  didactic 
verse  ;  the  ensenhaincn  (instruction),  a  didactic  piece  ;  the  retronsa, 
a  piece  with  refrain,  and  the  pastorela  (pastoral),  a  piece  told  by  a 
nobleman  from  his  own  point  of  view,  beginning  with  a  short  nar- 
rative and  introducing  a  conversation  with  a  woman  of  inferior 
rank.  There  were  other  refinements  of  terminology.  T\\^ pastor- 
da,  alba,  and  balada  were  popular  forms,  and  for  that  reason  pretty 
much  ignored  by  the  troubadours. 

26.  P.  292. — I  have  called  the  church  Romanesque,  but  in  fact 
the  restoration  in  the  sixteenth  century  left  it  a  medley  of  styles. 

Near  Riberac  is  La  Tour  Blanche,  from  which  went  Guilheni  de 
la  Tor,  a  joglar  and  troubadour  who  flourished  1220-1255  and  has 
left  us  twelve  to  fifteen  lyrics.  He  went  to  Lombardy,  and  there 
carried  off  the  wife  of  a  barber,  taking  her  to  Lake  Comoand  living 
with  her  on  the  most  aifectionate  terms.  When  she  died  he  became 
insane  from  grief,  and  fancying  that  she  had  feigned  death  to  be  rid 
of  him  he  would  not  allow  her  body  to  remain  in  the  grave,  but 
kissed  and  talked  to  it  as  if  she  were  alive,  begging  her,  if  alive,  to 
return  to  him,  or,  if  dead,  to  tell  him  what  punishment  she  was 
suffering,  so  that  he  could  have  masses  performed  for  her  repose. 
Finally,  people  would  no  longer  tolerate  so  frightful  a  drama,  and 
drove  him  away.  Then  he  went  about  searching  for  sorcerers  who 
should  restore  her  to  life.  One  of  these  told  him  that  if  he  would 
read  the  Psalter,  say  150  paternosters,  and  feed  seven  poor  people 
every  day  for  a  year  before  tasting  food,  she  would  live  again, 
though  she  would  neither  eat,  drink,  nor  speak.  Guilhem  carried 
out  the  prescription,  and  then,  as  it  had  no  effect,  "allowed  him- 
self to  die." 

27.  P.  296. — M.  Aurelius  Antoninus,  IV.,  48. 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

I.  P.  297. — "  Gascony  "  is  used  here  in  a  broad  sense.  Mon- 
taigne was  born  in  Perigord,  but  lived  in  Bordeaux  and  is  claimed 


452  The  TroubacloLirs  al  1  Ionic 

by  that  city.  Bordeaux  was  the  residence  of  the  (kiscon  dukes 
until  the  province  came  into  the  possession  of  the  counts  of  Poitou. 
The  Gascons  remained  as  independent  of  France  as  possible,  and 
in  1004  Abbon,  making  a  journey  to  this  region,  said  as  soon  as  he 
crossed  the  Dordogne,  "Here  I  am  actually  more  powerful  than 
our  lord,  the  king  of  the  Franks,  for  in  these  parts  no  one  re- 
spects his  authority." 

2.  P.  299. — Ausonius  wrote  :  "  Insignem  Baccho.fluvioque,  viris- 
que,  I  Moribus,  ingeniisque  hommum,  proceriiniqiic  seiiatu. 

3.  P.  299. — Among  the  early  known  troubadours  of  Gascony 
were  Cercatnon,  Aldric,  Marcabru,  and  Peire  de  Valeira  ;  among 
the  later  :  Marsan,  Calansou,  Peire  de  Corbiac,  Aimeric  de  Belenoi, 
Amanieu  de  la  Broqueira,  Bernart  Arnaut  d'Armagnac,  Bernart  de 
Panassac,  Peire  de  Durban,  and  Peire  de  Ladils.  Those  whose 
names  are  italicized  have  been  treated  already.  The  others  are  of 
slight  importance,  but  as  A.  de  Belenoi  was  among  the  seven  men- 
tioned by  Dante  in  De  Vulg.  Eloq.,  a  few  words  may  be  given 
him.  He  was  a  nephew  of  P.  de  Corbiac,  was  born  at  Lesparra 
(Lesparre,  near  Bordeaux),  and  studied  for  the  Church.  He  lived 
long  at  Rius(Rieux,  Haute-Garonne),  where  he  loved  Gentils,  wife 
of  Raimou  de  Benca  (Benque,  near  .St.  Gaudens).  He  spent  some 
time  in  Provence  at  the  court  of  Raimon  Berenguier  IV.,  in  Castile, 
and  in  Roussillon.  His  period  is  the  first  half  of  the  13th  century 
(1210-1241,  Chahaneau).  He  died  in  Catalonia.  We  have  about 
twenty  of  his  pieces,  but  find  no  reason  in  them  why  Dante  should 
have  mentioned  him.  Diez  mentions  also  an  Aimeric  de  Belmont, 
but  this  poet  was  the  same  as  Belenoi. 

4.  P.  300. — Eleanor  and  her  sons  had  charge  of  Bordeaux  for 
Henry  II.  after  1163. 

5.  P.  303. — They  were  also  called  viscounts.  The  house  was  a 
branch  of  that  of  Angouleme. 

6.  P.  303.— The  Provencal  biography  describes  Rudel's  verse  as 
"■'  Paubres  inotz,''^  lit.,  "poor  words.''  Differing  interpretations 
have  been  placed  on  this  expression.  For  example,  Stengel,  in  a 
review  of  Stimming's  book,  holds  that  it  means  poor  poetry,  i.  e., 
without  real  feeling  ;  while  Suchier  and  Paris,  contrasting  it  with 
^'^  ric  trobar,'''  think  it  means  that  he  did  not  stud)-  the  obscure 
style  or  out-of-the-way  rhymes. 

7.  P.  304.— Vid.  No.  358,  III.,  p.  94,  St.  2.      "That  joy  shall  fill,'* 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXI  X.  453 

etc.  ;    ///.,  "  that'  glad  I  may  [indeed]  be  gladdened,"  /.  e.,  have  a 
deep  and  lasting  happiness. 

8.  P.  307. — The  castle  and  the  ancient  village  of  Blaye  were 
swept  away  in  1683  by  Vauban  to  make  room  for  the  present  for- 
tress, just  out  of  sight  on  the  right  of  the  picture.  The  church  of 
St.  Romanus  went  at  that  time,  and  more  than  two  hundred  houses 
were  destroyed.  Anciently  the  name  Gironde  covered  the  Garonne 
as  far  as  Bordeaux.  Ausonius  praised  the  harbor  of  Blaia.  The  for- 
est is  mentioned  in  numerous  documents  of  the  period. 

9.  P.  307. — Odierna  (1118-1161),  wife  of  Raimon  I. 

10.  P.  308.  — Rudel  probably  took  ship  at  Aigues  Mortes,  not 
Blaye,  but  the  sight  of  out-putting  vessels  would  turn  his  thoughts 
seaward  and  afar. 

11.  P.  309. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  54.  (This  is  Stimming's  No.  V.)  I 
give  stanzas  i,  2,  5,  6,  7,  and  the  tornada.  In  st.  3  Rudel  speaks 
of  begging  the  lady  for  a  lodging  near  her  "  for  the  love  of  God," 
so  that  they  may  talk  joyfully  together  ;  and  in  st.  4  he  explains 
that  it  is  not  lack  of  the  means  of  communication,  but  simply  the 
great  distance  that  deters  him  (a  state  of  things  exactly  fitting  the 
theorv  that  she  lived  at  Tripoli).  "  but  let  all  be  as  pleases  God." 
The  word  translated  "scrip"  (tapis)  is  of  doubtful  meaning.  It 
has  been  rendered  soiiquenille  by  Raynouard,  Pilgertasche  by 
Diez,  and  deguiseinoit  by  G.  Paris.  The  allusion  to  a  presiding 
genius  is  decidedly  interesting. 

12.  P.  312. — The  account  of  Rudel  given  in  the  text  is  not  the 
one  at  present  accepted  bv  the  best  authorities.  A  few  years  ago 
the  distinguished  scholar,  M.  Gaston  Paris  (No.  23,  vol.53,  p.  225), 
taking  up  an  idea  of  Stengel's,  argued  with  beautiful  clearness  and 
skill  that  the  tale  has  no  foundation  beyond  vague  allusions  in 
Rudel's  poems  to  a  "  distant  love,"  the  fact  that  he  went  to  Pales- 
tine on  the  second  crusade,  and  the  probability,  or  perhaps  cer- 
tainty, that  he  died  there  in  1147.  Upon  these  realities  the 
romance  was  started  by  one  jogiar  and  built  up  by  others.  This 
view  is  now,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  accepted  one  among  scholars  • 
and  Mouaci  (giving,  as  it  seems  to  me,  one  more  illustration  of  the 
credulousness  of  incredulity  when  it  has  a  theory  of  its  own) 
has  endeavored  to  prove  that  the  "distant  love"  was  Queen 
Eleanor. 


454  The    Froubadours  at  Home 

It  seems  to  nie,  I  venture  to  say,  that  the  traditional  view  has 
not  been  overthrown,  but  only  needs  to  be  interpreted,  and  I  have 
tried  to  interpret  it  in  the  text. 

First  we  must  remember  that  we  have  several  accounts  of  men 
loving  ladies  they  had  not  seen.  Rairabaut  d'Aurenga,  Peire  II., 
and  B.  A.  d'Armagnac  are  three  such  cases. 

In  the  second  place  we  must  consider  the  enterprising  spirit  of 
gallants.  Savaric  de  Mauleon,  a  great  lord  full  of  cares,  posted  all 
the  way  down  to  Gascony  whenever  his  lady  called.  I  believe  that 
had  Rudel  made  such  an  ado  about  the  distance  to  his  love,  the 
doubtfulness  of  his  ever  seeing  her,  etc.,  he  would  have  been 
laughed  out  of  gallant  society  if  she  lived  within  the  confines  of 
France. 

We  must  next  consider  the  man  Rudel.  We  are  dealing  here 
with  a  peculiar  organization, — not  steady  and  logical,  but  poetical, 
unpractical,  enthusiastic,  overstrung,  artificial,  impulsive,  ideal- 
istic, unbalanced,  and  even  flighty.  Coherence  of  ideas  and  con- 
sistency of  action  are  not  to  be  expected.  He  could  lose  himself 
in  imaginations  and  find  delight  in  a  love  like  "manna."  None 
the  less  he  was  human,  with  intense  natural  passions. 

Such  a  man  could  at  the  same  time  love  a  real  woman  and  an 
imaginary  woman  ;  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  could  find  refuge 
from  the  coldness  of  flesh  and  blood  and  the  unsatisfactoriness  of 
physical  love  in  dreaming  of  a  woman  so  superior  and  far  away  as 
to  seem  almost  beyond  reach  and  out  of  his  world.  He  could  say 
that  he  had  forsworn  love  when  he  gave  up  sensuous  love  and 
entered  upon  the  crusade ;  and  5et  could  nurse  the  spiritual  love 
as  a  means  of  freeing  himself  from  the  flesh,  as  a  sentimental  com- 
fort, and  as  a  fulcrum  of  thought. 

In  fact,  since  no  troubadour  could  live  without  some  sort  of  love, 
his  renunciation  of  the  real  love  in  the  crusading  song  is  prima 
facie  evidence  that  he  had  found  an  ideal  love.  This  ideal  love 
would  most  naturally  begin  before  the  other  was  abandoned. 

My  suggestion  then  is  this  :  Rudel  loved  a  handsome  woman  in 
France  ;  but,  repelled  by  her  coldness  and  craving  something  bet- 
ter, his  feelings  began  to  attach  themselves  to  an  ideal  love  for  the 
countess  of  Tripoli  of  whose  good  deeds  he  had  heard  from  pil- 
grims. The  first  (physical)  love  waned  and  the  second  (ideal) 
grew.  Perfectly  in  accord  with  the  latter  came  the  resolution  to 
forswear  physical  love  and  take  the  cross.  There  coexisted  in  his 
thoughts,  then,  an  ideal  and  a  sensuous  love  and  a  religious  enthu- 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXIX.  455 

siasm.  This  is  the  complex  state  of  mind  sliown  ))y  the  soiij^ 
writteu  just  before  he  set  out.  The  "  distant  love  "  was  so  spirit- 
ual and  even  so  unreal  that  sometimes  it  appeared  to  be  something 
and  sometimes  nothing ;  and  even  when  about  to  go  he  could 
scarcely  believe  he  should  ever  see  the  object  of  his  thoughts. 

We  come  now  to  the  objections  which  M.  Paris  makes  against 
tlie  biography'  (the  Roman  numerals  refer  to  the  numbering  of  the 
poems  in  Stimming's  edition) : 

ij.  The  story  is  a  complete  romance  such  as  reality  scarcely  ever 
furnishes. 

But  reality  does  once  in  a  while  give  us  a  "  complete  ro- 
mance." 

b.  The  Proven9al  biographies  are  often  unreliable. 

But  they  are  often  correct. 

c.  The  biographer  says  that  he  took  the  cross  to  visit  the  coun- 

tess of  Tripoli,  whereas  the  song  composed  at  this  time  (I.) 
shows  that  he  was  in  love  with  a  French  lady  and  sacrificed 
this  love  under  the  impulsion  of  a  religious  fervor. 
This  point  has  been  cleared  up  above.  Further  :  stanza  7 
of  this  song  may  refer  to  the  "distant  love,"  it  seems  to  me, 
and  the  whole  piece  tends  to  confirm  my  theory.  Stanzas  i  to  6 
are  devoted  to  sensuous  longings.  Stanza  7  is  thus  translated 
by  M.  Paris  :  "  Amour,  je  me  separe  de  voiis  avec  allegresse, 
parceque  je  vais  cherchant  mo7t  mieux,  etj'aicette  bojine  aven- 
ture  d\"n  avoir  le  coeur  joyeux grace  a  mon  bou  garant,  qui  me 
veut  et  ni'appelle  et  m^accepte  et  qui  m'a  tnis  eti  bo7i  espoiry 
To  whom  do  these  mysterious  allusions  refer?  To  God,  thinks 
M.  Paris.  Do  they  not  suit  better  the  "  distant  love"  who 
has  (we  may  assume)  by  this  time  (for  he  is  now  setting  out) 
heard  of  Rudel's  purpose  and  sent  some  encouragement  ?  If  to 
God,  why  is  the  poet  so  mysterious  ?  In  the  next  stanza  he 
uses  the  word  "  God  "  without  hesitation.  Stanza  7  would  be 
the  natural  place  to  introduce  it  (if  this  were  the  poet's  mean- 
ing), since  the  transition  of  thought  is  made  there.  In  short, 
this  song  seems  to  me  to  refer  to  three  things  :  i,  his  sensuous 
love  (st.  1-6)  ;  2,  his  ideal  love  (st.  7);  and  3,  the  crusade  (st. 
8). 

d.  In  1 152,  Odierna  was  not  in  a  convent  but  was  the  guardian 

of  her  minor  son. 

There  were  cases  when,   for   urgent   reasons,   a   man  or   a 
woman    left    the   convent.     Roselin    of  Marseille  did    .so  and 


456  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

married.     May  she  not  have  entered  the  convent  in  1147  and, 

when   her  husband   was  assassinated  about   1152,   have  come 

out  to  take  charge  of  her  son?     Or  is  not  the  expression  "si 

rendet  monga^^  compatible  with  her  having  entered  a  convent 

but  left  it  before  taking  the  final  vows?     Or  finally,  we  may 

admit  that  the  detail  about  the  lady's  entering  the  convent  was 

added  to  round  out  the  story.      It  comes  at  the  end  and  would 

have  seemed  a  fitting  conclusion.     We  could  sacrifice  it. 

e.  Poem  III.  celebrates  a  "  distant  love"  but  still  apparently  one 

not  very  far  away  ;  and  it  can  hardh-  be  supposed  that  the 

poet  would  celebrate  two  distinct  "  distant  "  loves. 

These  poems  may  have  been  separated  by  years,  and  Rudel 

may  have  forgotten  one  before  he  wrote  the  other.     Further : 

what  we  find  in  III.  is,  "  Luenh  es  lo  castels.'"     Is  not  this  an 

ordinary  use  of  the  word,  quite  different  from  the  special  use 

of  it  in   ''amor  de  lonh,''''  repeated  eight  times  in  V.  ?     What 

is  "  bizarre  "  m  his  saying  of  his  French  lady,  "  Her  castle  is 

distant,"  and  at  another  time  celebrating  the   ideal  love  of 

Palestine  as  a  "  distant  love  "  ? 

/.   His  exclamation,  "  Would  that  I  were  a  pilgrim  I  "  may  mean 

onl\'  that  he  would  be  glad  to  approach  her  in  the  disguise 

of  a  pilgrim. 

Still  a  more  obvious  meaning  is  that  which  has  been  usual. 
g.  It  is  true  that  in  VI.  Rudel  speaks  of  a  lady  whom  he  has  not 
seen  and  does  not  expect  to  see,  but  the  piece  is  2l  jeu 
d'' esprit,  as  is  shown  by  his  calling  attention  to  its  technical 
merits.  This  is  inconsistent  with  the  theory  of  "  a  mysteri- 
ous and  irresistible  passion." 

But  we  must  remember  Rudel's  peculiar  character  ;  he  was 

himself  a  "jVk  d^esprit,""  and  M.  Paris  remarks  of  one  of  his 

pieces  (p.   239)  :    "  L'iticohirenct'  drs  pensees  siiccessivenient 

expriinees  dans  une  uienie piece    .     .     .     ararement  He pous- 

see  aussi  loin.''''     Besides.  Rudel  does  not  say  more  about  the 

technique  of  his  piece  than  others,  e.  g.,  R.  d'Aurenga  in  the 

piece  translated  in   Ch.  VI.,  yet  R.  d'Aurenga's  piece  bears 

without  question  on  a  real  love  affair.     Finally  it  is  M.  Paris, 

not  the  biography,  that  speaks  of  an   "irresistible   passion" 

for  the  lady  ;  his  quest  was  due  to  religion  as  nmch  as  love. 

//.  Poem  V.  [translated  in  the  text]  speaks  more  clearly  of  the 

"  distant  love  "  ;  but  (i)  the  poet  does  not  say  he  has  never 

seen  her,  (2)  he  appears  to  have  reasons  for  believing  she 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXIX.  457 

did  not  return  his  love,  and  (3)  be  is  more  troubled  about 
this  than  about  the  distance  to  her. 

(i)  We  cannot  demand  that  he  say  everything  he  could  say. 

(2)  It  was  entirely  natural  for  him  to  fear  so,  for  very  likely 

she  did  not  then  know  of  his  existence,   and,  besides,   if  he 

could  not  win  the  woman  of  common  clay,  how  could  he  win 

this  superior  being  ?    (3^  This  also  was  natural,  for  the  distance 

could  almost  certainly  be  conquered,  but  he  might  entirely  fail 

to  win  the  lady's  heart. 

i.  The  strongest  support  of  the  biography  is  stanzas  6  and  7  of 

VI.,  which  distinctly  announce  the  poet's  purpose  to  seek 

his  lady  "  in  the  form  of  a  good  pilgrim,"  with  a  suggestion 

that  death  tnay  result  to  him.      But  (i)  these  stanzas  appear 

suspicious  "precisely  because  of  this  close  accord  with  the 

legend"  and  (2)  it  is  easier  to  understand  why  the  stanzas 

should  speak  of  his  death  if  they  were  interpolated  after  the 

event. 

(I)  But  if  agreement  between  a  poem  and  the  biography  is 

"suspicious"  and  disagreement  proves  the  biography   false, 

what  chance  is  there  for  the  latter  ?     (2)  Every  man  who  went 

on  a  crusade  felt  that  he  was  taking  his  life  in  his  hands,  and 

so,  in  fact,  he  was. 

y.  These  stanzas  (6  and  7  of  VI.)  contradict  the  rest  of  the  piece. 

In  11.  8  and  25,  Rudel  declares  he  shall  never  see  her,  but 

in  1.  38  that  he  will  go  to  her. 

But  every  one  of  us,  when  eutering  upon  a  hazardous  under- 
taking, has  said  to  himself  at  moments,  "  I  never  shall  suc- 
ceed !  It  is  impossible  !  "  Remember  Rudel's  character  and 
the  nature  of  his  enterprise.  Possibly,  too,  he  was  already  in 
poor  health  and  feared  he  could  not  survive  the  voyage, — as, 
according  to  the  story,  he  did  not. 
k.  Stanza  8,  which  is  lively  and  makes  no  mention  of  his  de- 
parture, is  inconsistent  with  the  sad  presentiment  of  stanza 

7- 

But  it  is  common  for  those  who  bid  a  sad  adieu  to  as.sume  a 

gay  tone  and  ignore  the  outlook  ;  and  Rudel  was  peculiarly 

mercurial. 
/.  The  word  ancessi  in  1.  35  is  proof  that  the  stanza  was  inter- 
polated, for  the  word  would  not  have  been  used  so  early  as 
1 147. 
But  this  word  is  purely-  conjectural,  a  reading  suggested  by 


45^  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

Suchier.     And  are  we  sure,   after  all,  that  it  could  not  have 
been  used  so  early  ? 
;//.  vStanzas  6  and  7  are  given  in  but  one  of  the  five  MSS.,  and 
that  one  not  of  the  highest  authority.     This  suggests  that 
they  are  not  by  Rudel. 

It    is  a  suggestion  but  cannot  be    called  a  proof.     And  it 

seems  to  me  that  an  interpolator  would  hardly  make  a  line  as 

obscure  as  the  first  one  of  stanza  7. 

».   If  we  examine  these  stanzas  (6  and  7  of  VI.)  closely,  we  can 

.see  how  a  joglar  made  them  up, — partly  from  the  legend  and 

partly  from  other  pieces  of  Rudel's. 

Of  course  it  is  easy  to  see  how  they  might  have  been  made 
up,  but  that  is  very  far  from  proving  that  they  were. 
0.  Some  mention  of  the  event  would  have  been  made  by  William 
of  Tyre. 

Rut   consider    how  many    remarkable  incidents   must  have 
been  occurring — things    of  far   greater   public    moment — and 
how  few  have  been  chronicled. 
p.  Tripoli  was  not  the  port  where  ships  from  the  west  were  ac- 
customed to  land  their  passengers. 

But  the  ships  of  that  day  were  not  our  ocean  liners,  and  the 
prince  of  Blaia  could  land  where  he  chose.     Does  not  this 
point   of  superficial  improbability   argue    against   the   theory 
that  the  story  was  invented  ? 
q.  The  theme  of  love  from  hearsa}-  is  found  in  the  fictions  of  all 
peoples. 
So  is  the  theme  of  love  from  personal  acquaintance  ;  does  such 
love  therefore  never  occur  in  fact? 

r.  It  is  noteworthy  that  M.  Paris  finds  himself  unable  to  explain 
11.  29-30  of  V.  [  11.   T5-16  of  the  translation]  except  by  ac- 
cepting the  biography,  consoling  himself  by  remarking  that 
if  the  poet  when  he  wrote  this  poem  had  decided  to  go,  he 
would  not  have  cried,  "  Oh,  if  I  could  be  there  as  pilgrim  !  " 
But  to  go  was  one  thing,  to  arrive  was  another,    for  the 
dangers  by  the  way  were  great.     He  might  well  say  in  the 
same  poem,   "  I  will  embark,"  and  ''  Would  that  I  might  be  in 
her  presence  !  "     This  removes  the  critic's  objection  and  leaves 
him  the  difficulty  about  these  lines,  upon  which  he  remarks  (p. 
249,  note   I):    "  /i?  ne  sats  a  quoi  font  allusion   les  vers  2g- 
JO,  '  Ben  tenc  lo  seithor  per  verai  Per  qiiHeu  verrai  I' amor  de 
lon/i.'     On  pOHrrait  dans  Pliypoth^se  de  la  legetide  comprendre 


Notes  on  Chapter  XXXIX.  459 

que  le  poete  vcut parler  de  Dieu,  et  dit  que  la  croisade  en- 
treprise  pour  Dieu  lui  servini  a  voir  sa  dame  loititaine.^' 
This  part  of  my  positiou  could  not  be  stated  more  clearly. 

If  these  points  are  well  taken  we  have  the  testimony  of  the  bi- 
ography and  the  poems  for  the  story  (except  perhaps  the  lady's 
becomint;  a  nun)  and  aj^ainst  the  stor)-  nothing  but  conjectures. 
We  must  accept  it  or  believe  that  unknown  joglars,  one  or  more, 
created  what  M.  Paris  himself  calls  "  a  beautiful  and  significant 
.  myth,  and  a  myth  so  profound  that  it  has  tempted  and 
must  yet  tempt  more  than  one  true  poet  ;  .  .  .  one  of  the 
sweetest  and  most  touching  symbols  of  man's  eternal  aspiration 
toward  the  ideal."  Aside  from  the  evidence,  it  is  easier  for  me  to 
believe  that  a  known  poet,  knight,  and  prince  of  Rudel's  transcen- 
dental disposition  conceived  the  idea.  It  is,  perhaps,  worth  add- 
ing that,  as  G.  Paris  remarks,  Rudel's  biography  may  have  come 
from  Sain  Circ,  who  was  in  the  region  of  Blaye  about  fifty  years 
after  Rudel's  death  ;  so  that  he  was  in  a  position  to  get  pretty 
near  the  facts  about  Rudel,  while  he  might  err  about  the  lady's 
course. 

Schultz  says  in  support  of  Paris  that  it  was  "  wonderful  "  that 
the  countess  was  ready  to  receive  him  ;  but  are  not  people  fre- 
quently in  a  state  to  receive  visitors  ? 

We  have  six  songs  from  Rudel.  Their  language  illustrates  the 
early  recognition  of  Limousinian — used  by  Guilhem  IX.,  Eble, 
and  Marcabru — as  the  literary  speech,  for  Rudel  did  not  employ  his 
iocal  dialect.  (This  belonged  to  the  Provenjal  family,  whereas  at 
present  the  speech  is  northern.)  Rudel's  music  was  good.  One 
of  the  songs  is  noteworthy  for  having  an  echo  at  the  close  of  each 
stanza,  — i.  e.,  the  final  vowel  is  twice  repeated  as  an  exclamation  : 
"a./  a!  " 

The  story  of  Rudel  has  been  famous  for  centuries.  Petrarch,  in 
his  Trionfo  d'Afnore,  wrote  : 

"  Giaufre  Rudel  ch'uso  la  vela  e'l  remo 
A  cercar  la  sua  morte." 

Uhland  and  Heine  both  drew  inspiration  from  it.  It  has  been 
thought  that  Leopardi's  Consalvo  was  under  obligations  to  it. 
vSwinburne  has  retold  it  in  his  own  way  in  The  Triumph  of  Time. 
The  stanzas  begin  : 


460  The   Troubadours  at  Home 

"There  lived  a  singer  in  France  of  old, 
By  the  tideless,  dolorous,  midland  sea, 
In  a  laud  of  sand  and  ruin  and  gold 

There  shone  one  woman  and  none  but  she." 

See  also  Browning's  poem,   "  Rudel  to   the  Lady  of  Tripoli." 
Carducciaud  Mary  Robinson,  also,  are  indebted  to  the  tale. 

Marcabru  addressed  a  poem  "  Tojaufre  Rudel  beyond  the  sea." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

1.  P.  315. — The  old  tower  (once  a  part  of  the  castle)  now  standing 
in  Angouleme,  dates  from  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century. 
The  counts  were  fond  of  a  castle  of  theirs  at  Bouteville,  a  lofty  and 
beautiful  site,  and  they  often  sojourned  there,  keeping  in  touch 
with  Angouleme  by  means  of  signal  lights.  The  picture  represents 
Angouleme  castle  as  it  was  about  1840. 

2.  P.  316. — Raimon  Leugier  of  Dosfraires,  near  Nice,  became 
Cadenet's  first  patron,  and  the  famous  Blacatz  aided  him.  We  do 
not  know  when  he  entered  the  monastery,  but  he  was  there  in 
1239.  The  lady  whom  he  chiefly  sang  was  the  daughter  of  Amfos 
II.  of  Aragon,  wife  of  Raimon  VI.  of  Toulouse  ;  but  he  celebrated 
also  the  countess  of  Angouleme.  He  was  bright  and  clever,  but 
superficial.  In  one  song  he  begs  his  lady  to  learn  "three  letters  of 
the  A  B  C— ,  more  I  do  not  ask."  These  he  says  are  A  M  T  (i.  e., 
"Am  te''—l  love  thee).  Yet,  he  adds,  it  might  be  well  for  her 
also  to  know  O  and  C  (for  these  spell  Oc,  Yes).  He  addressed  a 
poem  of  expostulation  to  a  count  of  Burlatz  who  had  been  so 
offended  by  the  abuse  of  some  poetaster  as  to  withdraw  his  favor 
from  poets  as  a  class.  Cadenet  tells  him  that  the  blame  of  a  fool 
is  really  praise.  We  have  about  twenty-five  pieces  from  him. 
His  last  poems  were  sermons. 

3.  P.  317. — The  reader  already  knows  that  the  lives  of  many  of 
the  troubadours  cannot  be  dated  with  precision  and  so  will  take 
with  proper  allowances  this  view  of  their  doings  at  a  given  time. 
It  seems  to  me  worth  while  to  make  such  a  survey  even  though 
the  details  are  largely  conjectural. 

4.  P.  318.— Of  Rigaut's  period  we  can  only  say  that  he  flourished 
about  1 200-1 2 10.     He  has  commonly  been  called  Richart. 


Notes  on  Chapter  XL.  461 

5.  P.  318. — His  lady's  husband  was  Jaufre,  probably  the  Gau- 
fridus  de  Tonai  who  appears  in  history  as  a  leading  noble  in  1214 
and  1220.  Jaufre  was  acquainted  with  Savaric  de  Mauleou.  Taouai 
is  now  Tonnay-Charente  near  Rochefort.  Chabaneau  suggests 
that  the  lady  was  a  granddaughter  of  the  troubadour  of  Blaia,  but 
Gaston  Paris  calls  her  the  grand-niece.  Her  father's  name  was 
Jaufre  Rudel. 

6.  P.  319. — The  nave  and  sculptured  portal  of  St.  Matthias's  go 
back  to  the  twelfth  century,  but  are  not  particularly  interesting. 

7.  P.  321. — Rigaut's  story  comes  to  us  iu  a  peculiar  way.  There 
is  first  the  meagre  Provencal  biography.  Next  comes  a  razo, 
probabiv  due  to  the  joglars,  telling  of  his  difficulty  with  bis  lady 
and  of  the  reconciliation,  but  making  no  mention  of  the  Court  of 
L,e  Puy.  Finally  we  have  an  Italian  tale  (No.  64  of  the  Novellino 
in  Gualteruzzi's  edition)  which  with  blunders  as  to  names — e.g., 
Rigaut  giving  place  to  Alamanno,  i.  e.,  perhaps  Bertran  de  Lama- 
nou— presents  a  story  based  upon  this  razo  and  probably  other 
Provencal  documents.  On  this  is  founded  the  bracketed  passage  of 
the  text.  Of  course  this  Italian  story  has  no  historical  character, 
but  as  the  first  stanza  of  the  poem  appeals  by  name  to  the  Court 
of  Le  Puy,  and  as  so  many  lovers  could  not  so  well  have  been  as- 
sembled anywhere  else,  I  have  accepted  the  idea.  The  whole 
accountis,  however,  only  a  joglar'stale,  and  like  other  gossip  more 
or  less  true,  or  possibly  entirely  false. 

The  Italian  author,  however,  perhaps  not  liking  the  reason  given 
by  the  Provengal  razo  (as  in  my  account)  for  the  estrangement,  ex- 
plained it  as  due  to  Rigaut's  having  divulged  the  name  of  his  lady 
at  a  banquet  when  heated  by  wine  and  urged  on  by  comrades  who 
by  agreement  boasted  of  their  successes  for  the  express  purpose  of 
getting  him  to  betray  himself.  For  this  oflFeuce  the  poet  was  dis- 
carded and  became  a  hermit.  One  day  he  learned  from  some 
knights  who  chanced  to  pass  his  dwelling  of  a  great  festival  to  be 
held  at  Le  Puy,  and  seized  with  a  desire  to  take  part  in  it  he  bor- 
rowed a  horse  and  armor,  appeared  as  a  champion,  and  won  the 
first  prize.  On  opening  his  helmet  he  was  recognized  and  besought 
losing.  (All  this  is  of  course  the  story-teller's  invention.)  He 
refuses  to  sing  until  forgiven  by  his  lady,  the  lady  names  her  con- 
ditions, the  poet  (bethinking  him  of  the  approaching  feast  of 
Candlemas)  composes  the  song  of  the  text,  and  sings  it  at  the  feast, 


4^12  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

the  required  number  of  lovers  intercede,  and  the  reconciliation  is 
effected. 

8.  P.  321. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  70.  There  are  five  stanzas  and  two 
tornadas,  one  of  which  is  given  by  only  one  MS.  I  give  stanzas 
one  and  two.  In  st.  3  he  admits  that  love  made  him  proud 
"like  Daedalus  who  said  that  he  was  Jesus  and  wished  to  fly  to 
heaven."  In  st.  4  he  says  that  if  he  could  he  would  imitate 
"  phcenix,  of  which  there  is  no  more,"  and  purge  his  sin  by  burn- 
ing himself,  so  that  his  falsehoods  should  come  to  life  again  in 
tears  and  sighs. 

9.  P.  322. — Rigaut's  Spanish  patron  was  Diego  Lopez  de  Haro, 
of  Vizcaya,  whose  praises  were  sung  by  several  troubadours,  and 
who  died  in  1215. 

Besides  the  proverbs  and  sayings  in  this  and  other  chapters,  the 
following  are  perhaps  worth  quoting:  "There  are  many  to  say 
how  a  thingshould  be  done  and  few  to  do  it."  "  Fair  weather  after 
foul."  "Who  buys  dear,  sells  dear."  "  Hunger  flavors  the  food, 
and  toil  makes  the  bed  softer."  "  Who  gains  easily,  spends 
quickly."  "The  higher  one  rises  the  farther  one  may  fall." 
"  Flour  feeds  many  a  fool."  "  Who  knows  not,  does  not  know." 
"  Let  not  a  wise  man  contend  with  a  fool."  "  A  wise  man  is  rich 
in  his  shirt."  "  A  wise  man  that  errs  must  be  blamed  more  than 
a  fool."  "One  evil  brings  another."  "The  blow  of  a  friend  is 
better  than  the  kiss  of  a  traitor."  "  He  is  a  fool,  indeed,  who  seeks 
his  own  harm."  "Love  takes  more  than  it  is  willing  to  give." 
"Who  loves  well  chastises  well."  "The  man  that  rides  second 
cannot  kiss  whom  he  would."  "  The  man  that  skins  you  the  first 
time  cannot  shave  you  the  second."  "One  cannot  find  refuge 
from  slander  even  in  the  grave."  "  A  woman  who  entangles  her- 
self with  two  men  will  find  it  hard  not  to  do  the  same  with  a  third." 
"  It  is  in  need  that  one  recognizes  a  friend.  " 

10.  P.  323. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  90.  With  the  following  exceptions, 
the  original  is  followed  so  closely  that  a  literal  translation  is 
unnecessary:  Line  i,  lit.,  "In  a  garden  beneath  hawthorn  leaf- 
age" ;  1.  3,  lit.,  "Cries  that  the  dawn  comes"  ;  1.  11,  lit.,  "Let 
us  do  it  all  in  despite  of  the  jealous  one  "  ;  1.  13,  lit.,  "  Let  us  make 
a  new  sport"  ;  1.  16,  lit.,  "  In  the  garden  where  the  birds  sing"  ; 
1.  19,  lit.,  "  Of  his  breath  I  have  drunk  a  sweet  beam."  The  refrain 
is,   literally,   "  Oh   God,  oh  God,  dawn  !     So   quick  it   comes  !  " 


Notes  on  Chapter  XL  I.  463 

The  concluding  stanza  is  sometimes  placed  at  the  beginning.  The 
watchman  on  the  turret  of  the  donjon  was  accustomed  to  salute 
daybreak  with  a  few  notes  on  a  pipe  or  horn. 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

1.  P.  324. — G.  Riquier,  the  last  of  the  troubadours,  endeavored 
to  explain  the  origin  of  the  art.  He  said  :  "  The  art  of  the  joglars 
was  invented  by  men  of  intelligence  and  nobles  of  some  knowledge, 
to  divert  and  honor  the  nobility  with  instrumental  music.  Then 
came  the  troubadours  [/.  i\,  poetry],  to  recount  noble  actions,  praise 
the  excellent,  and  encourage  them  to  do  well."  Jeanroj-  (see  No. 
19,  CLI.,  p.  374)  attaches  a  good  deal  of  importance  to  this  dictum. 
But  (i)  Riquier  was  not  a  scholar,  (2)  he  had  not  access  to  the  re- 
sults of  modern  investigations,  (3)  he  lived  so  long  after  the  thing 
hedescribes  that  as  a  "  souvenir'^  { Jeanroy)  his  opinion  can  hardly 
be  thought  of  weight,  and  (4)  the  slight  value  of  his  testimony  seems 
to  me  to  be  shown  by  the  inaccuracy  of  his  description  of  the  aims 
of  the  troubadours  in  the  words  quoted  above.  This  description 
accords,  probably,  with  Riquier's  theory  of  what  the  troubadours 
should  do,  but  in  fact  they  were,  primarily,  poets  of  love.  Riquier's 
dictum  seems  to  me  only  a  bright  guess,  and  so,  I  think,  it  is 
generally  regarded.  With  this  chapter  compare  what  was  said  in 
XXXIV.  of  the  origin  of  troubadour  music. 

2.  P.  327. — For  instance,  in  No.  143,  p.  13,  note  1,  are  quotations 
from  mediaeval  writers,  bringing  ih^jociilatores  before  us  at  the 
dates  of  791,  1039,  and  1045,  always  as  noisy  and  vagabondish.  In 
1058  a  witness  to  a  charter  appears  as  ''joglarius,^^  which  shows 
that  the  calling  was  a  recognized  profession  at  that  time.  Pascha- 
sius  Radbertus  mentioned  poetry  in  the  popular  tongue  about  850. 
As  the  reader  has  probably  seen  an  article  by  Jeanroy,  in  No.  19 
CI/I.  (1899),  in  which  nothing  is  said  of  the  centuries  of  popular 
verse  running  back  to  Roman  times,  which,  according  to  the  text, 
was  transformed  into  troubadour  verse,  a  few  comments  are  per- 
haps needed.  Jeanroy's  words  are  (p.  374)  :  "  C'est  pour  eux  (/.  e., 
the  more  refined  nobles  of  southern  France)  que  les  troubadours 
perfectionnerent  cette  poesie  toute  sponta7iee  qui  dut  sourdre  dans 
les  couches  profondes  du  people  des  que  la  langue  eut  conscience 
d'elle-raeme."  [Italics  mine.]  This  appears  to  deny  all  connection 
of  troubadour  poetry  with  anything  antecedent. 


464  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

But  ([)  Jeauroy  probably  did  not  intend  to  go  back  of  the 
proximate  sources  of  Proveufal  poetry.  The  same  omission  was 
found  by  Gaston  Paris  (No.  334)  in  Jeanroy's  work  (No.  213),  and 
was  commented  on  thus  :  "  II  n'a  pas  pris  soin  .  .  .  de  recher- 
cher  ...  si  elle  [la  poesie  lyrique  en  France]  datait  seulement 
du  nioyeii  age  ou  remontait  a  I'epoque  romaine  ;  il  ue  s'est  presque 
pas  occupe  des  temoignages  positifs  que,  dans  les  siecles  ant^rieurs 
aux  monuments  que  nous  en  avons,  en  pent  recueillir  sur  son  ex- 
istence." (2)  Jeanroy  does,  however,  mention  that  the  joglars  de- 
scended from  the  miini,  scenici,  thyniclici,  etc.,  of  Roman  Gaul, 
and  he  alludes  to  the  literary  entertainment  provided  by  such 
people,  e.g.,  the  verses  composed  by  a  j'oculaior  and  recited  be- 
fore Charlemagne  (774).  (3)  In  support  of  the  text  may  be  cited, 
besides  the  words  of  Gaston  Paris,  above,  No.  294  and  No.  363, 
P-  34- 

3.  P.  327. — There  was  also  some  Byzantine  influence,  but  it  was 
probably  insignificant  so  far  as  troubadour  poetry  is  concerned. 

4.  P.  331. — -The  rebec  was  of  Persian  origin. 

5.  P.  337. — These  May  festivals  had  their  origin  in  pagan  cele- 
brations in  honor  of  Venus.  The  character  of  the  dances  is  in- 
ferred from  dances  still  found  in  remote  districts  of  France. 

6.  P.  338. — This  ballad,  "a  precious  pearl  of  folk-lore,  as  L. 
Romer  calls  it,  is  known  from  its  first  line  as  "  A  Ventrade  del  tens 
clary  Just  how  old  it  is,  and  whether  it  was  actually  one  of  the 
songs  sung  by  girls  in  their  May  festivities,  we  do  not  positively 
know,  but  it  is  regarded  as  at  least  the  nearest  (though  not  quite 
the  only)  approach  we  have  to  that  kind  of  poetry.  The  original 
may  be  found  in  No.  41,  p.  86.  In  1.  21,  I  have  followed  the  read- 
ing adopted  by  Bartsch  instead  of  that  adopted  by  Appel  after 
G.  Paris  {avrillouse),  because  the  theory  has  reference  to  festivities 
in  May,  not  April,  and  the  poem  might  not  seem  to  the  reader  to 
agree  with  the  text  otherwise.  It  has  been  suggested  by  Stengel 
that  perhaps  the  refrain  consisted  originally  of  only  two  lines  : 
''  A  la  vie,  ialous  !  \  lassaz  nos  bailor  entre  nos  !  " 

A  literal  translation  is  as  follows:  "At  the  coming  of  clear 
weather,  to  begin  gladness  anew  and  annoy  the  jealous  [husband], 
the  queen  wishes  to  show  how  full  of  love  she  is.  She  has  had  all 
bidden, — let  there  be  none,  even  to  the  .sea, — maid  or  bachelor — 
that  do  not  all  come  to  dance  in  the  glad  dance.     The  king  comes 


Notes  on  Chapter  XLII.  465 

there  from  the  other  side  to  interrupt  the  dauce,  for  he  is  in  fright 
lest  some  one  carry  away  from  him  the  brightly  glancing  queen 
[or,  the  April  queen].  But  for  nothing  [in  the  world]  will  she  do 
it,  for  she  has  no  care  for  the  old  man  but  [cares]  for  a  light  bach- 
elor who  knows  well  how  to  comfort  the  delicious  lady.  Who  then 
sees  her  dance  and  display  her  lovely  person  can  indeed  say  with 
truth  that  the  joyous  queen  has  not  her  like  in  the  world.  Re- 
frain :  Away,  away,  jealous  one.  Let  us,  let  us  dance  by  our- 
selves, by  ourselves."  (Interjections  omitted.)  The  music  of  this 
song  is  from  MS.  X  (Restori),  of  about  1200  a.d. 

Another  May  song  ran  thus  :  "  Happy  be  the  lady  who  does  not 
make  her  friend  languish,  but  without  fear  of  jealousy  or  blame 
goes  to  find  her  knight  in  wood,  meadow,  or  garden,  leads  him  to 
her  chamber  the  better  to  be  happy  with  him,  and  leaves  the  jeal- 
ous [husband]  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  if  he  speaks  replies  to 
him,  '  Not  a  word  ;  away  with  you,  my  friend  reposes  in  my  arms: 
it  is  the  first  of  May.'     And  he  takes  himself  oflF." 

7.  P.  338. — It  is  worth  while  to  quote  the  exact  words  of  Gaston 
Paris's  theory  :  ' '  Je  voudrais  en  effet  rendre  vraisemblable  cette 
th^se,  que  la  poesie  des  troubadours  proprenient  dite,  imitee  dans  le 
Nord  a  partir  du  milieu  du  XII.  siecle  et  qui  est  essentiellement 
la  poesie  courtoise,  a  son  point  de  depart  dans  les  chansons  de  danses 
et  notamment  de  danses  printannitres  ;  et  subsidiairenient  que  les 
chansons  qui  lui  out  servi  de  point  de  depart  appartenaient  a  une 
region  interniediaire  enlre  le  Nord  et  le  Midi,  et  qu'elles  ont  ray- 
onne  au  Midi  pour  s'y  transformer  tris  anciennenient,  au  Nord 
pour y  rester  longtemps  telles  quelles.'^     (No.  334,  p.  58.) 

8.  P.  339. — As  Jeanroy  points  out  (No.  19,  vol.  CLI.)  Proven9al 
literature  was  not  due  to  these  causes,  but  certainly  it  was  favored 
by  them. 

9.  P.  339. — Answers  to  these  questions  are  given  on  pp.  354  and 
356  of  the  next  chapter. 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

I.  P.  340. — The  prejudices  of  the  monkish  historians  (which 
everybody  understands)  are  illustrated  by  the  necrology  of  Fonlre- 
vault,  which  thus  describes  Eleanor  (whose  chief  virtue  in  the 
historian's  eyes  was  no  doubt  her  liberality  to  the  establishment 
there) :  "  The  glory  of  her  birth  was  adorned  by  the  purity  of  her 

VOL.  II. — 30. 


466  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

habits,  and  the  correctness  of  her  life  by  the  fair  blossoms  of 
her  virtue,  and  by  her  incomparable  goodness  and  uprightness  she 
has  surpassed  all  or  almost  all  the  queens  that  ever  lived."  One 
churchman,  similarly  under  obligations  to  Guilhem  IX.,  praised 
him  enthusiastically. 

2.  P.  341. — In  saying  that  Eleanor  was  Bernart's  mistress  I  use 
the  word,  as  always  when  speaking  of  the  ladies  sung  by  the  trou- 
badours, without  implying  anything  as  to  her  virtue.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  the  relations  between  these  two  were  platonic  ; 
yet  a  study  of  Bernart's  expressions  and  the  history,  leaves  it  in 
my  mind  doubtful  whether  their  intentions  were  full}-  carried  out. 
The  mistress  of  Henry  alluded  to  was  the  "  Fair  Rosamund  "  (Clif- 
ford), but  I  do  not  mean  to  affirm  that  Eleanor  literally  gave  her  a 
cup  of  poison,  as  the  story  would  have  us  believe. 

3.  P.  343. — It  would  be  interesting  to  carry  Guilhem's  lineage 
back  to  Guilhem  "The  Great,"  who,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
eleventh  century,  "  had  many  books  and  read  diligently  therein," 
as  Watterbach  says.  So  early  at  least  began  the  literar}'  tastes  of 
this  brilliant  family. 

4.  P.  344.— Vid.  No.  41,  p.  94,  St.  I. 

5.  P.  344. — Vid.  No.  358,  v.,  p.  117,  foot.  Lit.,  "Each  one 
should  enjoy  [to  the  full]  the  joy  that  makes  him  glad." 

6.  P.  345. — The  description  of  the  duke's  personal  appearance  is 
mostly  imaginary,  but  from  his  son  and  other  descendants  we  can 
draw  his  portrait  with  some  confidence.  One  of  the  chroniclers 
speaks  of  his  personal  beauty.  The  charm  of  his  wit  is  well 
attested. 

The  original  account  of  the  duke's  affair  with  the  two  ladies  is 
given  in  No.  41,  p.  95.  The  last  stanza,  which  mentions  sending 
the  song  to  the  ladies,  appears  only  in  MS.  C,  and  is  given  at  the 
foot  of  p.  96  ;  very  possibly  another  hand  added  it.  A  portion 
may  be  found  in  English  in  No.  97,  II.,  p.  210. 

7.  P.  347. — Moutierneuf  had  originally  four  turrets,  but  Coligny's 
Calvinists  destroyed  two,  besides  doing  other  damage.  The  cure 
told  me  where  the  troubadour  duke  was  interred. 

8.  P.  347. — Hilary  was  bishop  of  Poitiers.  Poitiers,  Lyons,  and 
Aries  led  in  the  introduction  of  Christianity  into  Gaul. 

9.  P.  347.— Most  of  the  present  church  is  only  about  eight  hun- 
dred vears  old. 


Notes  on  Chapter  XI>II.  467 

10.  p.  347.  The  Palais  de  Justice,  of  which  Ivleanor's  Salle  des 
Pas  Perdiis  is  a  part,  is  said  to  date  from  the  Emperor  Julian's 
time  (about  357).  The  fireplace  which  cuts  off  the  Salle  is  compar- 
atively modern.  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  interrogated  in  this  Palais  be- 
fore the  Parlement  of  Paris.  Of  the  ancient  palace  of  the  counts 
there  remain  only  insignificant  fragments,  between  the  gates  of 
St.  Lazare  and  Rochereuil,  near  the  Clain. 

11.  P.  348. — Notre  Dame  may  have  been  standing  in  950. 

12.  P.  34S. — She  was  named  Malbergeon. 

13.  P.  348. — The  duke's  words  to  the  two  bishops  were  :  "  Antea 
crispabis  pectine  rc/itgum  a  front'e  capillum  quain  ego  vicecomi- 
tisso"  indicain  repudiam  "  ;  and,  "  Tanluni  eerie  te  odi  tit  7iec  meo 
tedignerodio,  nee cceltitn  iinquam  intrabismecemanusministerio.^^ 
(William  of  Malmesbury.) 

14.  P.  349.— The  principal"  dates  in  Guilhem's  life  are:  born, 
Oct.  22,  1071  ;  began  to  reign,  1087;  obtained  possession  of  Tou- 
louse, 1098  ;  left  it,  1 100  ;  took  the  cross  (largely  perhaps  because 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  outdone)  at  Limoges,  iioo  ;  set  out  for  Pales- 
tine, iioi  ;  returned,  1103  ;  excommunicated,  1114;  went  to  Spain, 
1119  ;  conquered  and  lost  Toulouse,  1124  ;  at  war  with  the  king  of 
France,  11 26;  died,  Feb.  10,  11 27. 

15.  P.  349. — In  his  time  Aquitaine  included  Gascony,  Poitou, 
Saintonge,  Aunis,  Agen,  Limousin,  and  the  suzerainty  over  Au- 
vergue  (whence  the  English  claim  to  that  province).  Quercy, 
Albi,  Gevaudan,  Velay  (the  region  about  Le  Puy),  and  Rouergue 
belonged  to  Toulouse.  Guilhem  had  a  certain  claim  to  Toulouse 
through  his  wife  Philippa,  daughter  of  the  count  of  Toulouse.  As 
duke  of  Aquitaine,  Guilhem  was  the  ninth  of  the  name  ;  as  count 
of  Poitou,  the  seventh. 

We  have  eleven  lyrical  pieces  from  him.  His  Proven5al  biogra- 
phv  (onlv  six  lines  devoted  to  him)  may  have  come  from  Sain 
Circ  (O.  Schultz).  It  is  suspected  that  a  French  "  romance  "  of 
the  thirteenth  century  was  based  upon  his  doings  ;  the  name  of  the 
hero  (Joufroi)  may  have  come  by  a  mistake  from  the  name  of 
Guilhem's  father  ( Jaufre). 

16.  P.  349. — His  army  was  60,000  knights  and  a  greater  number 
of  foot-soldiers  according  to  William  of  Malmesbury  ;  300,000  ac- 
cording to  Orderic  Vital  ;  30,000  plus  men  folk  and  women  folk 
according  to  No.  139  ;  too.ooo  according  to  Paul  Meyer.      Orderic 


/     / 


468  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

vital  read  and  described  Guilhem's  poem  on  his  crusading  experi- 
ences. 

17-  P-  351- — Vid.  No.  63,  col.  32.  I  give  the  piece  complete. 
Note  the  simplicity  of  the  form.  The  only  rhyme  carried  from 
stanza  to  stanza  is  that  of  the  last  line.  The  last  line  of  the  piece 
is  "  e  vair  e gris  e  sembeli,''  i.  e.,  robes  trimmed  with  furs  of  vari- 
ous kinds,  representing  the  pride  and  luxury  of  life.  It  is  not  cer- 
tain that  this  piece  was  composed  at  the  time  suggested  in  the  text, 
but  that  seems  very  probable.     Such  is  the  opinion  of  P.  Meyer. 

18.  P.  351. — This  is  said  (No.  196)  to  be  the  earliest  allusion  to 
fairies  in  modern  literature.     Vid.  No.  41,  p.  80,  lines  11  and  12. 

19.  P.  353. — We  are  not  .sure  that  Etiennede  Bourbon's  anecdote 
about  "  a  count  of  Poitou  "  refers  to  Guilhem  IX.,  but  Chabaneau 
seems  right  in  suggesting  that  it  does. 

20.  P.  353. — Vid.  No.  63,  col.  27,  St.  I. 

21.  P.  354. — The  duke's  Provencal  biography  emphasizes  his  Don 
Juan  proclivities  and  is  fully  confirmed  by  his  poems. 

22.  P.  355.— Vid.  No.  358,  v.,  p.  118. 

23.  P.  356. — Vid.  No.  41,  p.  52.  L.  Roemer  denies  this  piece  to 
Guilhem  on  the  ground  that  it  is  too  skilful,  proposing  as  possible 
authors  Borneil  and  R.  d'Aurenga,  though  he  admits  that  the  style 
is  too  simple  for  the  latter.  To  me  the  piece  appears  very  much 
what  we  might  expect  of  the  duke, — lordly,  cavalier,  and  somewhat 
crude,  and  not  at  all  like  either  of  these  two  poets.  Both  Bartsch 
and  Appel  attribute  it  to  him.  L.  29,  "minstrel",  ///.,  "My 
friend  Daurostre  "  ;  but  the  next  line  seems  to  show  that  D.  was  a 
minstrel  in  the  duke's  employ.  Note  the  refrain  word  at  the  end 
of  the  fifth  line  of  each  stanza, — in  the  original,  "  love." 

24.  P.  357. — It  has  been  denied  that  Celtic  instinct  had  anything 
to  do  with  the  tone  of  troubadour  literature,  and  no  doubt  it  was 
not  its  proximate  cause.  But  if  this  Celtic  instinct  is  alive  in 
France  today  (and  one  cannot  be  there  long  without  seeing  its 
action  in  both  secular  and  religious  affairs)  it  must  have  been  alive 
750  years  ago  ;  and  if  alive  it  must  have  acted. 

25.  P.  357. — It  should  be  remembered  that  the  popular  poetry 
went  on  as  before  ;  only  a  part  of  the  stream  was  diverted  into 
courtly  circles. 

26.  P.  357. — It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Guilhem's  natural  son 
Aimar  had  a  son  Guilhem  who  married  the  poetess  Biatritz,  "  couu- 


Notes  on  Chapter  XLII,  469 

tess  of  Dia,''  so  that  his  blood  and  hers  mingled  in  the  famous 
Diane  de  Poitiers. 

While  Guilhem  IX.  at  six  years  of  age  was  learning  to  ride  a 
horse,  Henrj'  the  Fourth's  humiliation  at  Canossa  marked  the 
solidification  of  the  papal  power ;  while  at  seventeen  years  he  was 
taking  up  the  burdens  of  power,  the  feudal  system  was  definitely 
organized  (loSS)  ;  and  while  he  was  inaugurating  the  career  of 
modern  poetry,  Abelard,  born  eight  j'ears  later,  was  doiug  the 
same  for  modern  philosoph}-. 

As  Guilhem  was  the  earliest  of  the  troubadours  I  give  the  follow- 
ing extracts  to  illustrate  the  best  .sides  of  his  style:  "In  great 
gladness  I  find  in  love  a  joy  which  I  would  fain  possess  in  greater 
fulness,  and  since  I  wish  to  be  happy  again  I  must,  if  I  can,  go  to 
the  best.  .  .  .  Every  joy  must  humble  itself  before  my  lady 
and  all  riches  and  power  obey  her,  because  of  her  beautiful  man- 
ners, and  her  fair,  pleasant  look,  and  the  man  that  exhausts  the 
joy  of  her  love  must  live  more  than  a  hundred  years.  Her  glad- 
ness can  heal  the  sick,  her  anger  kill  the  well  ;  and  she  can  make 
the  wise  simple,  the  handsome  ugly,  the  most  courtly  boorish,  and 
the  utterly  boorish  courtly.  Since  none  can  find,  nor  eye  see,  nor 
tongue  tell  of  a  fairer  lady,  I  would  have  her  for  myself  to  refresh 
my  heart  within  and  renew  my  flesh  that  I  may  never  grow  old. 
If  my  lady  will  grant  me  her  love,  I  am  ready  to  receive  and  be 
grateful,  to  conceal,  to  pay  court,  to  do  and  speak  as  shall  please 
her,  to  hold  her  honor  dear,  and  to  enhance  her  praise.  I  dare  not 
send  her  aught  by  messenger,  so  much  I  am  afraid  she  would  be 
angry  ;  and  so  greatly  do  I  fear  mishap,  I  dare  not  myself  express 
my  love,  but  she  must  find  out  for  herself  what  I  most  need,  since 
she   knows   that   it   rests  with  her  to  save  me."     (From  No.  41, 

P-  5I-) 

"In  the  sweetness  of  the  new  season  the  woods  leave  and  the 
birds  sing, — each  one  in  his  own  language  [/;'/.  Latin]  following 
the  pattern  of  the  springtime  song,  so  now  it  is  well  that  every 
man  possess  and  enjoy  that  which  he  most  desires.  .  .  .  Our 
love  goes  on  like  the  branch  of  hawthorn  which  abides  on  the  tree 
through  the  night  amid  rain  and  frost,  but  on  the  morrow,  when 
the  sun  shines  out,  appears  covered  with  verdure.  .  .  .  Again 
I  mind  me  of  a  morning  when  we  made  war  into  peace  and  she 
gave  me  so  great  a  gift :  her  love  and  her  ring.  Enqiier  vie  lais 
Dietis  viure  tan  c'aia  vias  mans  soz  so  mantel.''     (No.  41,  p.  51. ) 

"  I  will  make  a  poem  of  sheer  nothing  ;  it  shall  not  be  of  myself 


470  The  Troul)adours  at  Home 

nor  of  anj-body  else,  not  of  love  nor  of  youug-heartedness  nor  of 
anything  else  ;  I  found  it  when  I  was  asleep  on  a  horse.  I  know 
not  at  what  hour  I  was  born  ;  I  am  neither  gay  nor  sad,  neither 
distant  nor  familiar,  and  I  cannot  be  otherwise  ;  for  thus  the  fairies 
dowered  me  by  night  atop  a  high  hill.  I  know  not  when  I  am  asleep, 
or  when  awake,  unless  one  tell  me  ;  my  heart  has  almost  left  me 
for  heartfelt  pain  ;  and  yet  I  care  not  a  mouse  for  it  by  St.  Martial. 
I  am  sick  and  in  fear  of  death,  yet  I  know  nothing  about  it  save 
what  I  hear  ;  I  will  seek  a  physician  to  my  taste  and  know  not 
whom  l^a/i'l  ;  he  will  be  a  good  doctor  if  he  cure  me,  but  not  if  I 
grow  sick."  Several  stanzas  follow  in  the  same  vein.  (No.  41, 
p.  80.) 

Another  song  is  on  the  theme  "  How  happy  could  I  be  with 
either."  Two  steeds  the  duke  has,  he  says.  Both  are  beautiful 
and  mettlesome,  but  they  cannot  get  on  together.  So  he  calls 
upon  his  hail-fellows  to  advise  him  :  which  shall  he  retain — Agnes 
or  Arsen  ?     (No.  41,  p.  94.) 

"  Comrades,  I  cannot  deny  that  I  am  displeased  with  the  news  I 
hear  and  see,  for  a  lady  has  complained  to  me  of  her  guardians. 
She  says  they  follow  neither  equity  nor  law,  but  all  four  of  them 
keep  her  shut  up,  and  the  one  does  n't  extend  her  chain  as  much 
as  the  other  tightens  it.  ...  I  tell  you,  guardians,  and  I  ad- 
monish you  and  it  will  be  very  great  foil}'  if  you  don't  believe  me  : 
you  will  scarcely  find  a  guard  that  will  not  sleep  at  times.  And  I 
have  never  seen  a  woman  of  such  fidelity  that  she  does  not  wish 
to  have  an  affair  or  give  a  favor,  or  that  would  not  deal  with  base- 
ness if  excellence  is  out  of  her  reach.  And  if  }'ou  deprive  her  of 
a  good  rig  (equipage)  she  avails  herself  of  what  she  finds  within 
reach.  If  she  can't  have  ahorse  she  takes  up  with  a  pony.  There 
is  none  of  you  that  will  gainsay  me,  and  would  not,  if  denied  good 
wine  for  his  ailment,  drink  water  before  he  would  allow  himself  to 
die  of  thirst.  Anybody  would  drink  water  before  he  would  allow 
himself  to  die  of  thirst."     (No.  63,  col.  31.) 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

1.  P.  360. — The  counts  of  Narbonne  were  Amalric  IV.  and  (after 
1270)  Amalric  V.  The  count  of  Rodez  was  Enric  (Henry)  II.,  and 
the  king  of  Castile  was  Amfos  X. 

2.  P.  361. — Vid.  No.  63,  col.  2S2.  I  give  stanzas  i  and  3.  There 
are  four  in  all. 


Notes  on  Chapter  XLIII.  471 

3.  p.  361. — The  dates  of  the  six  pastorals  were  1260,  1262,  1264, 
1267,  1276,  and  1282.  The  one  translated  is  the  first.  The  niean- 
injj;  of  some  passaj^es  at  the  end  is  not  perfectly  clear.  Vid.  No. 
266,  IV.,  p.  83. 

4.  P.  363. —The  original  is  ''  aus  entier,'"  from  which  it  seems 
impossible  to  obtain  a  meaning  that  would  fit  the  context.  Several 
scholars  concur  with  me  in  this  opinion.  Diez  gives,  "She  does 
right,"  and  I  follow  him  to  avoid  a  gap. 

5.  P.  363. — The  breu-doble,  redonda  with  and  without  concaten- 
ation, and  Serena  (Mahn). 

6.  P.  364. — Vid.  No.  63,  col.  281.  There  are  five  stanzas,  of 
which  I  give  i  and  2.  As  my  purpose  is  mainly  to  show  the  re- 
frain I  have  translated  somewhat  freely.  The  refrain  is  :  en  Cata- 
luenha  la  gaya  |  entrels  Catalas  valens  \  e  las  donas  avinens. 

The  words  in  Roman  and  the  rhymes  change  with  each  stanza, 
as  in  the  translation.  The  date  of  this  piece,  Riquier's  first 
retronsa,  is  1270,  when  he  was  in  mid-career,  so  that  the  use  of  a 
refrain  was  a  deliberate  choice.  The  music  is  from  MS.  R  (Restori) 
of  about  1300  A.u.  The  piece  on  p.  361  is  another  illustration  of 
Riquier's  use  of  the  refrain. 

7.  P.  368. — The  Alphonsine  Tables  were  astronomical  works 
prepared  by  an  assembly  of  Christian,  Jewish,  and  Moorish  scien- 
tists and  published  by  the  king.  The  singular  character  of  Amfos 
X.  is  shown  for  example  by  his  repudiating  his  wife,  sending  to 
Denmark  for  another  spouse,  and  then  becoming  reconciled  to 
the  first  one.  The  result  was  that  the  lady  from  the  north  passed  the 
rest  of  her  days  in  a  convent  instead  of  a  palace.  For  a  list  of  the 
troubadours  patronized  by  this  king  consult  note  2  on  Chapter  XV. 
His  dialect,  called  Portuguese  in  the  text,  was  that  of  Galicia. 
Riquier  addressed  poems  to  him  from  1265  to  1274.  He  died  in 
1284. 

8.  P.  368. — Another  poet  patronized  by  Amfos  X.  was  At  de 
Mons  (of  Mons  near  Toulouse),  called  also  Nat  de  Mons,  appar- 
ently because,  as  Schultz  says,  the  particle  N'  {En,  signifying 
"vSir"  )  became  habitually  attached  to  his  name  (No.  31,  XVIIT., 
p.  124).  From  this  poet  we  have  one  lyric  and  five  didactic  pieces. 
Among  the  latter  is  a  poem  addressed  to  Amfos,  whom  he  called 
"  the  Good  King  of  Castile,"  on  the  influence  of  the  stars.  It  con- 
sists of  1244  six-syllable  lines  in  couplets.  The  king  replied  in 
prose  and  At  put  this  reply  into  815  lines  of  verse.    It  is  interesting 


4/2  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

to  note  the  king's  conclusion.  Mankind,  he  declares,  are  partly 
under  the  influence  of  the  stars,  partly  controlled  by  predestina- 
tion, and  entirely  governed  by  luck.  Good  or  ill  may  come  from 
one,  from  two,  or  from  all  of  these  elements  ;  but  no  man  can  de- 
termine beforehand  from  which,  for  no  one  can  declare  with  cer- 
tainty the  will  of  God.  This  is  wisdom  of  a  Delphic  sort,  indeed. 
At  died  about  1290  (No.  75). 

The  onlv  other  contemporary  poets  worth  naming  are  Folquet 
of  Lunel,  Server!  of  Geroua,  and  Bertran  Carbonel,  who  have 
been  already  treated  (see  Index). 

9.  P.  368. — Riquier's  petition  to  King  Amfos  may  be  found  in 
German  in  No.  143,  p.  63.  There  is  a  reply  from  the  king  decree- 
ing that  matters  should  be  arranged  as  Riquier  desired,  but  appar- 
ently it  was  Riquier  himself  who  composed  it. 

10.  P.  371. — We  have  from  Riquier  about  ninety  lyrics  and  sixteen 
epistles  on  didactic  or  moral  subjects.  He  has  left  us  twenty  ten- 
ses, more  than  any  other  troubadour  ;  most  of  them  were  com- 
posed at  Rodez.  No.  115  gives  an  interesting  list  of  the  persons 
named  by  him,  with  identifications  of  most  of  them.  The  use  of  the 
title  "  Sir  "  in  his  poems  does  not  signify  that  he  was  of  knightly 
rank  ;  we  do  not  know  what  his  social  position  was.  He  owed  to 
Borneil  his  conception  of  the  poet  as  a  "doctor." 

11.  P.  371. — The  classification  of  the  troubadours  as  to  rank  is 
from  Stimming  (No.  183a).  He  reckons  Pons  de  Capduelh  and 
B.  de  Lamanon  as  only  knights.  Three  troubadours  were  of  posi- 
tively menial  stock  ;  two  had  joglar  fathers.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered, too,  that  besides  the  many  troubadours  known  to  us  there 
was  no  doubt  a  countless  swarm  of  professional  or  amateur  versi- 
fiers, such  as  those  alluded  to  by  Raimon  Vidal,  at  the  beginning  of 
his  Razos  de  Trobar,  who  gave  "  their  minds  each  day  to  singing 
and  verse-making,  either  by  singing  themselves  or  by  listening  to 
others,"  so  that  "all  good  and  evil  things  in  the  world"  were 
"  made  known  by  troubadours." 

12.  P.  372. — It  was  in  Catalonia  that  Provencal  poetry  survived 
most  vigorously.  In  1393  a  Catalan  consistory  of  the  Gay  Science 
(similar  to  the  one  in  Toulouse)  was  founded.  Floral  games  were 
held  at  Barcelona,  Valencia,  and  Palma  in  the  XVth  and  XVIth 
centuries.  In  1550,  full  in  the  Renaissance  period,  appeared  a 
treatise  on  the  art  of  poetizing  in  the  troubadour  style.  This  school 
reached  its  culmination   toward  the  end  of  the  XVth  century  in 


Notes  on  Chapter  XLIII.  473 

Ausias  March,  a  real  afterglow  of  troubadour  times.  In  Castile, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  people  as  a  mass  never  acquired  the  liking 
for  Provencal  poetry,  preferring  their  native  poems, — epic,  moral, 
and  didactic. 

13.  P.  372. — There  was  clearly  a  native  dramatic  talent  in  the 
Midi,  as  Gaston  Paris  has  remarked.  Mention  may  be  made  also 
of  the  existence  of  the  religious  drama  in  Perigord  during  the 
Xlllth  century. 

14.  P.  373. — Taine  wrote  of  the  Proven9als  :  "  If  they  had  been 
able  to  develop  their  mediaeval  constitutions,  to  live  divided  into 
little  independent  sovereignties,  to  be  spurred  on  b}'  municipal 
patriotism,  to  finish  their  language  and  form  a  literature  and  man- 
ners in  keeping  with  it,  we  should  have  one  nation,  one  thought, 
one  art,  more  than  we  have.  They  had  them  in  1200.  Here  is  one 
of  the  lives  sacrificed  to  centralization  and  to  France."  It  is  worth 
adding  that  after  the  Albigensian  crusade  the  church  frowned  upon 
the  songs  of  the  troubadours,  and  viewed  with  suspicion  any  one 
who  showed  a  liking  for  them.  (See  Jeanroy,  No.  19,  CLI.)  It  will 
perhaps  do  no  harm  to  remind  the  reader  of  what  has  been  already 
stated,  that  the  Felibrige  was  not,  except  in  the  most  general  way, 
a  revival  of  the  mediaeval  poetry.  Of  course  we  are  concerned  di- 
rectly with  the  fate  of  the  troubadours  only,  but  a  few  words  on 
the  literature  of  Provence  in  general  can  hardly  come  amiss. 

15.  P.  374.  —Gaston  Paris  has  summed  up  the  career  of  Provencal 
poetry  by  saying  that  from  its  original  seat  in  or  near  Limousin  it 
spread  over  Poitou  and  Languedoc,  aroused  in  France  and  Ger- 
many an  imitative  poetry,  created  the  poetry  of  Spain  and  Portu- 
gal, and  in  Italy  fertilized  the  soil  that  was  to  produce  a  Dante  and 
a  Petrarch.  Jeanroy  has  remarked  (No.  19,  CLI.).  that  through 
Petrarch  and  Dante  all  modern  lyric  poetry  descended  from  the 
troubadours. 

16.  P.  374. — Dulce,  a  sister  of  Amfos  II.  of  Aragon,  married 
Sancho  I.  of  Portugal,  and  it  seems  as  if  this  must  have  contrib- 
uted greatly  to  introduce  the  taste  for  poetry. 

17.  P.  374. — Monaci's  argument,  (No.  16,  Aug.,  1884)  that  Bo- 
logna and  not  Palermo  was  the  original  cradle  of  Italian  lyric 
poetry  in  imitation  of  the  troubadours,  and  that  later  the  centre 
of  this  school  was  transferred  to  Palermo,  created  a  sensation. 
His  opinion  as  first  stated  was  refuted  by  Zenatti,  and  Monaci  con- 


474  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

teuted  himself  later  with  holding  more  loosely  that  Bologna  was 
a  seat  of  poetic  activity  before  Palermo  became  such.  Naturally 
poets  would  go  thence  to  Frederic's  brilliant  court.  This  seems 
likely  and  is  now,  I  believe,  admitted.  For  one  evidence,  many 
forms  of  speech  from  northern  Italy  appear  in  the  Palermo  verse. 

iS.  P.  374. — In  the  collection  of  Ste.  Palaye  FVederic  II.  was 
counted  the  last  of  the  troubadours. 

19.  P.  375. — Maria,  one  of  Eleanor's  daughters,  married  Henri  I. 
of  Champagne,  and  reigned  from  1164  to  1198.  We  know  that  she 
received  one  troubadour  at  her  court  (R.  de  Berbesiu),  and  she  was 
the  patroness  of  the  celebrated  Chrestieu  de  Troyes.  The  other 
daughter,  Aeiis,  married  Henri's  brother,  Thibaut  of  Blois. 

20.  P.  375. — Antoine  Tliomas,  in  a  review  of  a  book  b}'  Jeanroj', 
said  :  "  He  has  had  no  trouble  to  prove  .  .  .  that  the  trouveres 
were  in  short  only  the  faithful  disciples  of  the  troubadours." 
Gauchat  has  pointed  out  that  113  Provencal  pieces  are  contained 
in  the  French  song-books.  Even  the  festival  of  Le  Puy  was  imi- 
tated iu  northern  France  in  assemblies  called  Puys  Notre  Datiie, 
where  poems  in  honor  of  the  Virgin  or  love-songs  were  crowned. 
The  most  ancient  of  these  assemblies  was  at  Arras.  The  poets  of 
the  North  had  in  turn  a  slight  but  appreciable  influence  on  those 
of  the  vSouth. 

21.  P.  375. — The  French  words  used  by  Wolfram  von  Eschen- 
bach  have  been  studied  by  Leo  Wiener  ;  and  they  seem  to  prove 
that  he  was  not  merely  influenced  by  propinquity,  but  made  a  de- 
liberate study  of  PVench  poetry.  There  was  a  little  direct  imita- 
tion of  troubadour  songs  among  the  minnesingers.  Gaston  Paris's 
opinion  is  :  "  La  poesie  lyriqiie  frangaise  exerga  a  son  tour  de  V in- 
fluence sur  r Alleniagne,  ou  elle  Jut  (aiiisi  que  son  initiatrice 
ineridionale)  imitee  de  bonne  heure  par  les  minnesinger^ 

22.  P.  375. — Symouds  has  said  that  English  literature  was  al- 
most constantly  under  Italian  influence  for  three  hundred  years. 

23.  P.  377. — F.  Sander,  for  example,  says  of  Dante  :  "  Sehi 
ganzes  Leben  hindurch  blieb  die  Liebe  zu  Beatrice  der  Aufzug  in 
luelcheni  alte  seine  attderen  an  sich  hefrachtet,  iveit  grosseren  und 
unifassenderen  Idee>i  und  Interesseti  als  Einschlag  verwoben 
7vurden.'^     Dante  said  as  much  of  himself     Less  than  half  the 


Notes  on  Chai)ter  XLUl.  475 

poems  ill  the  Nczv  Life  differ  in  seutinieul,  or  perhaps  even  in 
thought,  from  those  of  the  troubadours.  The  very  title  recalls 
such  expressions  as  that  of  Rairabaut  d'Aurenga,  "  With  new  heart 
and  new  desire,"  etc. 


APPENDIX 

THE  PRINCIPAL  TROUBADOURS  GROUPED  GEOGRAPHI- 
CALLY 


All  these  are  treated  in  this  work  (see  Index) ;  those  whose  names  are  in 
capitals  are  treated  at  length 


AQUITAINE 


Aimeric  de  Belenoi 

Aldric 

Amanieu  de  Sescas 

Arnaut  Daniei. 

Arnaut  de  Maruki.h 

Bern  art  de  Durfort 

Bernart  de  Ventadorn 

Bernart  de  Venzac 

Bertran  de  Born 

Bertrau  de  Born,  Jr. 

Cercamon 

Daude  de  Pradas 

Eble  II. 

Elias  Cairel 

Elias  de  Barjols 

Elias  d'Uissel 

Gaucei.m  Faidit 


GUI  D'UlSSEIv 
GUILHEM  IX. 
Guilhem  de  la  Tor 
GuiRAUT  de  BORNEIIy 
Guiraut  de  Calanson 
Jaufre  Rudei, 
Marcabru 

Maria  de  Ventadorn 
Peire  de  Corbiac 
Peire  de  Valeira 
Rainion  Jordan 
RiGAUT  DE  BERBESIU 
Rodez,  the  Count  of 
Savaric  de  Mauleon 
Ugo  Brnnenc 
Ugo  de  la  Bacalairia 
Ugo  de  Sain  Circ 


AUVERGNE   AND    VELAY 


Bertran  de  la  Tor 

Castelloza 

DAI.FIN,  The 

Garin  lo  Brun 

Gauseran  de  Sain  Leidier 

Guilhem  de  Sain  Leidier 

Monk  of  Montaudon,  The 


Peire  Cardinai, 

Peire  d'Ai^vernhe 

Peire  de  Maensac 

Peire  Rogier 

Pkirol 

Pons  de  Capduei,h 


477 


4/8 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Aim  ERIC  DE  Peguilha 

Arnaut  de  Carcasses 

At  de  Mons 

Bernart  de  Tot  lo  Mon 

Clara  d'Anduza 

Folquet  de  Liinel 

Gaudairenca 

Germonda 

Giraudo  lo  Ros 

Guilhem  Azeniar 


LANGUEDOC 

Guilhem  de  Balaun 
Guilhem  Figueira 

GUIRAUT  RiQUIER 

Peire  de  Barjac 

Pkire  Raimon 

Peire  Vidal 

Perdigo 

Raimon  de  Miraval 

RoGiER  Bernart  III. 


Augier  Novella 

Bertran  Carbonel 

Bertran  de  Lamanou 

Blacasset 

BlacaTz 

Bonifaci  de  Castellane 

Cadenet 

(Charles  d'Anjou) 

DiA,  The  Countess  of 

FOEQUIiT  DE  MARSEIELA 
Folquet  de  Romans 

ROUvSSILLON 

Amfos  II.,  of  Aragou 
Amfos  X.,  of  Castile  , 

Guilhem  de  Berguedan 
Guilhem  de  Cabestaing 


EAST   OF   THE   RHONE 

Gui  DE  Cavaillon 
Guilhem  del  Bauz 
Guilhem  de  Montagnagou'c 
Guilhem  de  Sain  Gregori 
Guilhem  Magret 
Guilhem  Rainol 
Paulet  de  Marseilla 
Provence,  The  Countess  of 
RaimbauT  d'Aurenga 
RaimbauT  de  Vaqueiras 
Raimon  Berenguier  IV. 


AND   SPAIN 

Guiraut  de  Cabreira 

Serveri 

Ugo  de  Mataplaua 


Albert  de  Malaspina 
Bertolome  Zorgi 
Bonifaci  Calvo 
Frederic  II. 


ITALY 

Lanfranc  Cigala 
Manfred  (II.)  Lanza 
Peire  de  la  Mula 

SORDEL 


OF   UNKNOWN   NATIVITY 
Aruaut  Guilhem  de  Marsan  Izarn 


Bernart  Marti 
Gavaudan  the  Old 
Granet 


Peire  Bremon 
Peire  Duran 
Pelizier(?) 


SYNOPTICAL  CONTENTS 

The  references,  unless  otherwise  specified,  are  to  the  Index 

A.  The  Troubadours 

1.  The    Historical     Background:     see    Background;    Popular 

Poetry. 

2.  The  Basis  of  our  Knowledge  :  see  Sources. 

3.  Their  Position  in  Society  :  see  Social  Rank. 

4.  Their  Life  in  General :  see  Life  of  flic  Troubadour!^ ;  Life  in 

the  Troubadour  Age. 

5.  Their  Work  in  General :  see  Courtlines.^ ;  Troubadour  Poetry; 

Work  of  the  Troubadours. 

6.  Their  Character  in  Genera) :  see  Character  of  the  Troubadours. 

7.  Their  Ideas  in  General :  see  Proverbs  and  Sayings. 

8.  Their  Geographical    Distribution :   see  Geographical   World 

and  the  Appendix  to  Vol.  II. 

9.  Their  Chronological  Order:  .see  II,  316  +,358   t  . 
10.  The  Cause  of  their  Disappearance:  see  II,  371  + . 

ii.   Individual   Lives  and   Personalities:    see   the  Tables  of  Con- 
tents and  the  Index. 

B.  The  Songs  of  the  Troubadours 

T.  The    Origins    of  their    Art:    see    Origins;  Joglars ;  Popular 
Poetry. 

2.  The    General    Character    of  their    Poetry  :    see    Troubadour 

Poetry. 

3.  The   Language  :    see    Provengal  Language  ;    Romance   Lan- 

guages. 

4.  Classification  of  their  Poems:  see  Canson  ;  .Sirvente  ;  Ten  so ; 

Troubadour  Poetry ;  II,  Chapter  xxxviii.,  notes. 

5.  Specimens  of  their  Poetry:  see  Ballade  ;  Canson  s  ;  Crusades, 

So?tgs  on  the;  Didactic  Poems;  Evening-Songs ;  Fable; 
Laments  ;  Love-Letters ;  Morning-Songs  ;  X onsense- Verse  ; 
Parodies;  Pastorals;  .Sirventes ;   Tensos. 

479 


480  The  Troubadours  at  Home 

6.  The  Technical  Side  of  their  Verse:   see  Art  of  the  Trouba- 

dours :  Literary  Criticism  ;  Music;  Tornada  ;  Versijicatioti. 

7.  Their  Music:    see   Music;    Musical  lustruvients ;    Musical 

Notation  ;  Joglars. 

8.  The  Course  of  their  Literature  :  see  Developmetif  :  Decline 

and  Death. 


C.   The  \Vori,d  of  the  Troubadours 

1.  Its  Physical  Boundaries  :  see  Geographical  World. 

2.  Places  Frequented   by  them:  see  the  Tables  of  Contents  and 

the  Index. 

3.  Their   World    in    General  :    see    Background  :    Life    in    the 

Troubadour  Age. 

4.  The   Political  World  :    see   Brigandage ;    Feudal  Regivie  : 

Goziernment ;  Law;  Patriotisin  ;  Peasants;  Punishments ; 
Serfs ;   Towns  ;   Villages. 

5.  The   Religious  World :  see  Albigensians  :   Crusade  against 

the  Albigensians  ;  Crusades  :  Inquisition  ;  Jews;  Magic; 
Monasteries  ;  Pilgrimages  ;  Preaching  :  Religion. 

6.  The   Intellectual   World:    see   Architecture;    Art;   Boo/is ; 

Dramatic  Literature ;  Education  of  Boys  :  Education  of 
Girls  ;  Fiction  ;  Geography  ;  Heraldry  ;  History  ;  Hygiene  ; 
Intellectual  Atmosphere  ;  Medicine  ;  Nature  in  Troubadour 
Poetry  ;  Painting  :  Popular  Poetry  ;  Provencal  Literature  ; 
Romances  ;  Science  :  Sculpture  ;  Students  ;  Study ;  Sur- 
gery :  Universities. 
7.  The  Military  World  :  see  Architecture  ;  Arms  and  Armor ; 
Education  of  Boys  :  Esquire  :  Heraldry  :  Knighthood ; 
Tournaments  ;    War. 

8.  The  Business  World  :  ?,&&  Agriculture  ;  Architecture  j  Cloths ; 

Cotnmerce  and  Trade;  Dentistry;  Dyeing  ;  Fairs;  Fur- 
niture ;  Furs  ;  Gold-beating  ;  Guilds  ;  Hawkers  ;  Horses  ; 
Industrial  Art ;  Industrial  Life  ;  Jewelry  ;  Levant ;  Manu- 
factures ;  Money  :  Restrictions  of  Business  ;  Stationery. 

9.  The  Domestic  World  :  see  Architecture  :  Clocks ;  Costumes 

of  Men ;  Costumes  of  Women;  Dogs;  Domestic  Life: 
Fairs;  Food;  Furniture  ;  Furs  ;  Gardening ;  Hygietie ; 
Industrial  Art;  Lights;  Money;  Needlework;  Per- 
fumes; Roads;   Taverns;   Time ;  Toilet ;   Travel :  Trees. 


Syn()[>lical  Contents  481 

10.  The     Social     World:     see    Ainuscmenis  ;    Rail:    Banquet; 

Convcrsatioji  :  Courtliness  ;  Courtly  Love  :  Court  of  Lc 
Puy  ;  Courts  of  Love  :  Dancing  ;  Divorce  ;  Jiducation  of 
Boys  :  Education  of  Girls  :  Esquire  ;  Etiquette  :  Gentle- 
man ;  Hunting  :  Husbands,  The  R6le  of :  Kissing ; 
Knighthood ;  Ladyhood  ;  Love  in  the  Troubadour  Age  ; 
Love-Letters  ;  Love-making ;  Matritnony  ,•  Morals ;  Pil- 
grimages ;  Society  :  Stories,  Favorite  ;  Talebearers  ,•  Tokens 
of  Ajfection  :   7\)urnainents  :    lVo)nan's  Position. 

11.  The  Personal  World  :  see  Beauty  of  Men  :  Beauty  of  Women: 

Courtliness  :  Courtly  Love  ;  Education  of  Boys  :  Education 
of  Girls  ;  Esquire  :  Eyes  :  Gentleman  :  Honor,  Personal : 
Hunting  :  Hygiene  :  Joy  ;  Knighthood  :  Ladyhood  ;  Love  : 
Measure;  Morals  of  the  Troubadour  World;  Music; 
Society  ;   Worth  and  Excellence  :   Young- heartedness. 

12.  Transition  to  Modern  Life  :  see  Beginnings  of  the  Modern 

World;  English  Literature  :  French  Literature;  Ltalian 
Literature  ;  Minnesingers  :  Patriotism  :  Portuguese  Lan- 
guage and  Literature  ;  Spanish  Literature. 


INDEX   OP^   PERSONS.   PLACES,  AND   SUBJECTS 

Kor  a  classification  of  the  subject-matter  see  the  Synoptical  Table  of  Contents 
immediately  before  the  Index 


Abelard,  i,  ii6,  330;  ii,  469 
Academy  of  the  Floral  Games  : 

see  Jeux  Flora  iix 
Agout,  The,  i,   159,  161,  165,  362 
Agriculture,  ii,  120,  128  + 
Aiceliu  (Ezzelino  da    Romano), 

.i.  259  +.  432,  459 
Aimar  II  (of    Dia),   i,    40,     43, 

98,  429 
Aimeric  de  Belenoi,  i,  456,  475  ; 

ii,  434,  452 
Aimeric  de  Peguilha,  i,   336  +, 

387,   426,   455,  474  +  ;  ii,  258, 

317,  359.  381.  417,  434 
Aix,  i,  2  + 

Alais,  i,  107,  437  ;  ii,  422 
Alamanda,  ii,  435  + 
Alazais  (Countess  of  Burlatz),  i, 

149,    152.    157  +,    172  +  ,    208, 

252,  293,  342,  438+,  444 
Alazais  d'Altier,  i,  433 
Alazais    de  Boissezon,  i,   357  1-, 

360 
Alazais    de    Mercuer,    ii,     68+, 

389. 
Alazais  de  Roca  Martina,  i,  280, 

289,    298-^,   389+,   467,   491  ; 

ii,  76  + 
Alba  :  see  Morning-Songs 
Albert   de    Malaspina,   i,   49+, 

58,  256,  338,  415,  418 
Albertus    Magnus,    i,    85,     271, 

427 
Albi,  i,  281,  354,   368  +.  486  +  ; 

ii,  21,  22 
Albigensian    Crusade,    The,     i, 

185 +,  292,    297,    363,    386+, 

403  +,444;  ii,  39.  371  +.  400, 

474 


Albigensians,  The,  i,  185,  370  +, 

474,  486  +  ,  488+  ;  ii,  429 
Aldric,  ii,  106,  397 
Alexander  the  Great,  i,  73,  128, 

136,  303;  ii,  84,  144  +,  204,  403 
Alexandria,  i,  168  ;  ii,  125,  160 
Aliprandi,  i,  272 
Aliscamps,  Les,  i,  119 
Alphonsine  Tables,  ii,  368,  471 
Alpines,  Les,  1,35,  90 
Alps,  The,  i,  36,  138,  401  ;  ii,  21 
Amanieu  de  Sescas,   i,  350  ;  ii, 

82,  139 +,  142,  403 
Amfos  II    (King   of  Aragon),  i, 

149,    178 +,   181,   218,    247+, 

251  +,  307,  314,  325,  332,  337, 

437,  444,  455+,  485;  ii,  7,  n, 

232  +.    245,   258,   270 +,   303, 

316,  374,  417,  427,  473 
Amfos  II  (Count   of  Provence), 

i,  411,  445  ;  ii,  424 
Amfos   VII    (King  of  Leon),  i, 

456 
Amfos    VIII    (King  of  Castile), 

i,  414,  432.  455,  474  ;  ii,  442 
Amfos  IX  (King  of    Leon),    i, 

432,  456 
Amfos  X    (King  of  Castile),    i, 

256,  436,  456,  45S  ;  ii,  367  +, 

386,  470  + 
Amusements,    i,    12,  41  -f,    86, 

103,   197 +,  229,    314,  350;  ii, 

58,  70,  77  +,    133.  140,  141  +, 
144 +,  148,  196  +,  403,  450 
Andre  le  Chapelain,  i,  450 
Anduze,  i,  107,  112  +,  264,  432; 

ii,  73,^389 
Angouleme,  ii,  240,   313  -r  ,  322, 
460 


483 


484 


The  Troubadours  at  llunu- 


Antioch,  ii,    124,    271,    307,  350, 

382 
Aquitaine,  ii,  21,  240  •  ,251,334, 

467 
Arabic  Culture  aud    Infiuence, 

i,    286,   436  +  ;  ii,     160,     201, 

269, 328  + 
Aragon,  i,  no,  218,  247,  263,  264, 

326,    332,    389,    432,   455,  457, 

459,  463,  489 ;  11,  20,  240,  270, 

372,  399 
Architecture,  i,  276,  286,  291  +, 

332+  ;  ii,  130,  131  +,  133  +. 

142,  145,  159,  267  +.  396,  402, 

428 
Arcs,  Les,  i,  396,  491 
Ardes,  ii,  66 
Argentan,ii,  225,  429 
Arget,  The,  i,  320,  322 
Ariege,  The,  i,  320,  322+,  336 
Aristotle,  ii,  269,  440 
Aries,  i,  23,    119,   284,  413,  415, 

435,  465  ;  ii,  401      . 
Arms   and     Armor,    i,    467  ;  ii, 

235+,  260,  430 +,  434 
Arnaud   de   Villeneuve,    i,   131, 

138,  436 
Arnaut  Daniel :  see  Daniel,  A. 
Arnaut  de  Carcasses,  i,  465 
Arnaut  de   Maruelh,   i,    140  +, 

152 +,  155  +,  172 +,  187,  188, 
199,  208,  293,  335,  357,  438  +, 
447  ;  ii,  18,   T9,   172,    258,  317, 

359,  417,  434,  447 

Arnaut  Guilhem  de  Marsan,  ii, 
56  + ,  386,  435 

Art,  1,  286,  330;  11,  130,  135  +, 
159  + ,  260,  402,  406  + ,  439  + 

Arthur,  King,  i,  466 ;  ii,  145, 
204 

Art  of  the  Troubadours,  The,  i, 
194,  200  H-,  203  +,  430,  431, 
446,  473;  ii,  179 +,  198,  274, 
283+,  364,  373+,  383-  409, 
412,  413,  418,  442,  444  + 

Astronomy,  i,  135  ;  ii,  70 

At  de  Mons,  i,  456  ;  ii,  471  + 

Aubusson,  ii,  27 

Aude,  The,  i,  206,  311  +,  471 

Audiart  de  Malemort,  ii,  212  -j-, 
227 


Augier,  ii,  416 

Augustus   (Kmperor  of  Rome)^ 

i,  220 
Aurenga  :  see  Orange 
Aurillac,  i,  460;  ii,  8+,  23,  379 
Ausonius,   i,   330,   332  ;   ii,   299, 

311,452,453 
Austor  de  Maensac,  ii,  395 
Auvergne,   ii,  21 +,  29,   33,  63, 

66,  85,  297,  381,  382,  400 
Avignon,  i,  23,  435,  446,  465  ;  11, 

123 
Azemar,    Guilhem,   i,   451,  456; 

ii,  446,  448 
Azzo  VI  (of  Rste),  i,  339,  474 

Bacalairia,  U.  de  la  :  see  Ugo  de 

laB. 
Background,   Historical,  of  the 

Troubadours,  i,  8-|-,  286,  386, 

436;  ii.    III  +,  177,   199,   201, 
!        269,  324  +,  328,  331  + 
I    Bacon,  Roger,  i,  271 
Balaun,  G.  de  :  see  Guilhem  de 

B. 
Ball,  A,  ii,  77 

Ballades,  ii,  337,  450,  451,  464 
Banquet,  A.  ii,  135  + 
Barberino,  F.  da  :  see  Francesco 

da  B. 
Barbezieux,   li,   318  -|-,  320,  430, 

461 
Barcelona,  i,  241  +,  456 
Barjac,  P.  de  :  see  Peire  de  B. 
Barjols,  E.  de  :  see  Flias  de  B. 
Barral,    i,   41,    280,    289,    299 -|-> 

364,  389,  465,  467,  490  + 
Barral  del  Bauz,  i,  465 
Bartholomew    of   Glanvilla,    i, 

126,  127,  130;  ii,  64,  403 
Baux,  Les,  i,  33  +,  37  +,  9°,  289, 

301,  413,  463,  465 
Beaucaire,   i,   23,   408,   410 ;    ii, 

400 
Beautv  of  Men,  ii,  12,  81  +,  390, 

425' 
Beauty'  of  Women,  i,   163,  440  ; 

ii,  12  +,  80  +,  224,  227  -h,  389, 

390 
Beauvais,   V.   de  :    see  Vincent 

de  B. 


Index  of  Persons,  Places,  and  Sulijctcts    485 


Beauville  (Bouvila),  i,  192,   196 

+  ,  448 
Bede,  The  Venerable,  i,  126,  368  ; 

ii,  438 
Beginmrifis     of     the     Modern 
Worhl,  The,  i,  7,  150,  271,  343 
+  ,  447  +  ;   ii,  III,  199 +.  374 

-+-,473 
Beuauges,  i,  10,  iii  ;  ii,  300 
Benjamin  of  Navarre,  i,  137 
Benvenuto  da  Imola,  i,  448 
Beowulf,  i,  151,  204 
Berguedau,  G.  de  :  see  Guilhem 

deB. 
Bernard,  St.  :  see  St.  Bernard 
Bernart  de  Boissezon,  i,  354 
Bernart  de  Durfort,  i,  475 
Bernart  de  Tot  lo  Mon,  i,  460 
Bernart   de   Ventadorn,    i,   218, 

234,  434,  446,  447,  461  ;  ii,  156 

+  ,  178 +,   192,  231,   257,   259, 

273,  316,  356  +,  359-  377,  405 

+  ,  411  +,  417,  434 
Bernart  de  Venzac,  i,  460 
Bertolome  Zorgi  :  see  Zorgi 
Bertran  de  Born,  i,  445,  456  ;  ii, 

188,   219  +,    240  +,    259,  271, 

275,  317,  359.  383.  417,425  +, 

431  +,  434,  447 
Bertran  de  Born,  Jr.,  ii,  434 
Bertran  de  Lamanon,  i,  4,  266, 

268,  386,  407,  456,  458,  461  +  ; 

ii,  54 
Bertran  de  la  Tor,  ii,  395 
Bestiaries,  i,  127,  129 
'R€z\€:rs(Bezers),  i,  139,  149,  151, 

153.  172,  180,  182  +,  382,  436, 

438  ;  ii,  27,  401 
Biatritzde  Dia  :  see  Countess  of 

Dia 
Biatritz  de  Monferrat,   i,  58+, 

63  +,  172,  307.  416,  421,  425 
Biblical  History,  i,  135 
Blacasset,  i,  267,  461 
Blacatz,    i,  62,  266  ->- ,  308,   309, 

461  +,  463  ;  ii,  460 
Blaye,  i,  409  ;  ii,  303,  305,   307, 

453 
Blondel,  ii,  172 
Boccaccio,  i,    69,    343,    448  ;   ii, 

196 


Boissezon,  i,  354  -^.  483 
Bologna,  ii,  473 
Bonifaci  de  Castellane,  i,  413 
Bouifaz   I  (of  Monferrat),  i,  51, 

52,  69,  72,  73,  76,  258,  414,415 

+,  425  +  ;  11,  2C2  + 
Books  and  Libraries,  i,    126  +  ; 

ii,  267  4  ,  438  + 
Bordeaux,  1,  139,  475  ;  ii,  297  +, 

310 +,  452 
Brenion,  Peire,  i,  459,  461  4 
Breviary  of  Love,   The,  i,   126, 

130,  436 ;  ii,  404 
Brigandage,  i,  44,  50  ;  ii,  39,  55, 

120  +,  211,  290,  399  +,  407 
Brioude,  ii,  25,  29,  55,  386,  388, 

391 
Browning,   R.,  i,   254,   258,  260, 

261,  272 

Brunenc,   Ugo,   i,    264,   460 ;   ii, 

89,  417 
Brunessen,  i,  363,  460,  484 
Brutus,  i,  136 

Burlatz,  i,  149,  159  +,  354,  439 
Burlatz,  The  Countess  of :    see 

Alazais,  Countess  of  B. 
Burou,  ii,  85 

Cabaret,    i,    293+,  304 +,    345, 

352,  362,  463,  465  + 
Cabestaing,  G.  de  :  see  Guilhem 

deC. 
Cabestany   {Cabestaing),  i,   227 

+  ,  381,  451  + 
Cabreira,   P.    G.  de  :    see    Pons 

Guiraut  de  C. 
Cadenet,  i,  461  ;  li,  315  +,  460 
Cadillac,  ii,  300 
Csesar  (C.  J.),  i,   128,    136,   240, 

276  ;  ii,  105,  145 
Cairel,  Elias,  i,  426,  456  ;  ii,  441, 

444 
Calansou,   G.   de :    see  Guiraut 

dec. 
Calvo,   Bonifaci,   i,   256  +,   456, 

458 
Camargue,  La,  i,  284  +,  464 
Causon,  The,  i,  9  ;  ii,  449 
Cansons,  i,  67,  70,  91  +,  105  +, 

114,    115,    155  +,    169 +,    173, 

177,    198,   202,    213,    232,   236, 


486 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Causons — Conliuiied 

252,  265,  300,  301,  302,  315, 
333-  334,  341,  351,  389,  39i> 
394.  430.  433;  11,  48+,  59 +> 
73,  77,  98,  162,  165,  185,  216, 
261,  27S,  309,  321,  435,  469  + 

Capdenac,  ii,  23 

Capduelb,  P.  de  :  see  Pons  de  C. 

Carbon  el,    Bertran,  i,  387,   456, 
488  ;  ii,  198 

Carcassonne,  i,  280,  282,  289,  290 
+  ,  311,  463,  465+  ;  ii,  236 

Cardinal,  Peire,  i,  387  ;  ii,  38+, 
231,    258,    264,    275,    317,    330, 

359,  382+,  417.  447,  448 
Carpentras,  i,  15  +,  90 
Casale,  i,  53  + 
Castellane,  B.  de  :  see  Bonifaci 

deC. 
Castelloza,  i,  112,  432 
Castel-Rossello,  i,  227,  451 
Castile,  i,  1 10,  256,  263,  280,  338, 

389,  414,  436,  455  +,458,  459, 

461,  463,  489  ;  li,  125,  236,  270, 

276,  360,  372,  452 
Castle  of  the  Vale,  i,  63  +,  172 
Castres,  i,  159,  354,  359,  363,  484 
Catalonia,    i,    no,    240 +,     247, 

432,  456,  475,  484  ;  ii,   20,  28, 

411,  452,  472 
Cavaillon,  i,  14,  407,  412 
Cavaillon,  G.  de  :  see  Gui  de  C. 
Celtic   Ideas   and   Influence,    i, 

386,  488;  ii,  331  +,  357,  468 
Cercamon,  ii,  397 
Cevennes,  The,  i,  138,  139 
Cbalais,  ii,  228 

Cbalus,  ii,  203  +,  209,  400,  422 
Cbanipagne :       see     Maria     de 

Champagne 
Cbapteuil,  ii,  63  +,  65,  69,  78 
Character  of  tbe  Troubadours,  i, 

59  +,  150 +  ,   215,  21S,  352  +, 

422;  ii,  18 +,  28,  92,  99,  115, 

171  +,  208,  264,  275,  322,  361 

+  ,  391  +,  395,  437,  469 
Charente,  Tbe,  ii,  314 
Charlemagne,  i,  73,  240  ;  ii,  36, 

144,  149,  204,  252,  353 
Charles  d'Anjou,  i,  268+,  407, 

413,  462 


Charles  Martel,  i,  220 
Cbartres,  ii,  266 
Cbateauneuf-des-Papes,     i,    81, 

427 
Cbatelain  de  Couci,  L,e,  i,  454  + 
Chaucer,  ii,  375 
Chivasso,  i,  53 

Chrestien  de  Troyes,  i,  447,  45a 
Cigala,  Lan  franc,  i,  256,  458  ;  ii, 

.442 
Citeaux  and  Clairvaux,    i,   400, 

491  ;  ii,  130,  188,  413 
Clara   d'Anduza,    i,    112-1,    432 

+  ;  ii,  73 
Clermont-Ferrand,  i,    212,    314, 

432  ;  ii,  89,  394,  395 
Clocks,  ii,  404 
Cloths,  i,  ]65,  168+  ;  ii,  50,  79, 

81,  124  +,  127,  160,  390,  400 
Cluny,  i,  330,  492  ;  ii,  269 
College  du  Gay  Sfaz'oir,  i,  344  ; 

ii,  284  :  seeje/e.r  Floraux 
Commerce   and   Trade,    i,    168, 

208,   242,   279;  ii,    123 +,   268 

+  ,  282,  292  +,  303,  400 -f- 
Conissa  (Cunizza),  i,  259  -1- 
Conrat  de  Monferrat,  i,  52,  415 
Constance  (wife  of  Eustace),  i, 

149 
Constantin  de  Born,  ii,  233  + 
Constantinople,   i,    73,  420 ;    ii, 

160,  269 
Conversation,    i,    177,    390  ;    ii, 

138 +,      142+      (see     Love- 
making) 
Corbiac,  P.  de  :  see  Peire  de  C. 
Cordes,  i,  384  ;  ii,  22 
Cordova,  ii,  125,  148 
Costume  of  Men,  i,  165,  441  -f-  ; 

ii,  56  +,  81,  127,  132,  136,  196, 

219 +,  260,  387,  390 
Costume  of  Women,  i,  164,  168 

+  ,  440  +  ;  ii,  71  +,  79  +,  161, 

390 
Countess  of  Dia,  The,   i,  98+, 

112,  429+,  445  ;  ii,  258,  316, 

468  + 
Countess  of  Montferrand,  ii,  27, 

77,  89 
Countess     of    Provence      (Gar- 
senda),  i,  112,  411,  432 


Index  of  Persons,  Places,  and  Subjects    487 


Coursan,  i,  206 

Courth^zon  (Corteson),  i,  77  -\-, 

84  f ,  218  ;  ii,  271 
Courtliness  [Cortesia),  i,  45,  58, 

151,  177,  451 ;  ii,  72,  131  +, 

225,  275,  388,  397 
Courtly  Love,  i,  58+,  150,  155 
+  ,  158,  215  +,  217,  233,  251, 
266,  352  +,  421,  437,  450.  462, 
484;  ii,  17 +,  28+,  44  +  ,  62, 
73.  75,  82,  142  -f ,  172,  208,  226, 
228,  262,  272,  318 +,  373+, 
376+,  389,   391  +,   398,    429, 

435-437,  443 
Court  of  Le  Puy,  ii,  16  +,  321, 

461,  474 
Courts   of  Love,   i,   216,   449  + 
Crau,  La,  i,  35+,  284,  413 
Crusade    against   the   Albigen- 

sians  :  see  Alb.  Crusade 
Crusades  against  the  Infidels,  i, 

7,  72,  303,  420;  ii,  84,  215,  350, 

399.  428 
Crusades,  Songs  on  the,  i ,  7,  72, 

303  :  ii,  84,  ri8,  216,  394,  398 

Dalfiu,  The,  i,  no,  431,  460  ;  ii, 

27,  86  +,  259,  317,  385,  395 
Dalon,  11,  188,  221,  257,  413,  433 
Damascus,  i,  168  ;  ii,  79 
Dancing,  ii,  78,  141,  337.  390 
Daniel,  Arnaut,  i,  188  +,  195  +, 
317,  351,  429,  434,  445  +  ;  ii, 
223,  226,  273,  275,  277,  291  +, 

317.  359,  434,  442,  446 
Dante,  i,  38.  69,  126,  188,  199, 
200,  202,  203,  205,  254,  260, 
272,  314,  406,  413,  434,  445, 
447  +,  462+,  491,  493;  ii, 
17s,  T97,  198,  208,  242,  257, 
275,  277,  284,  288,  376+,  390, 
409,   434,    435,   437,  442,   448, 

473,  474  + 
Daude  de  Pradas,  i,  265,  460  ;  ii, 

139,  447 
David  (King  of  Israel),  i,  135 
Decline  and  Death  of  Trouba- 
dour Poetry,  i,  373  ;  ii,  360  +, 

371  + 
Dentistry,  i,  131 
Descort,  ii,  450 


Development     of     Troubadour 

Poetry,  ii,  358  i 
Dia  :  see  Die 
Dia,    The     Countess    of:      see 

Countess 
Didactic  Poems,  i,  132,  135,  181, 

269  ;  ii,  56,  71,  139,   198,  223, 

274,  285,  403 
Die  {Dia),  i,  97  +,  429 
Divorce,  i,  361 
Dogs,  i,  229,  304  ;  ii,  146 
Domestic  Life,   i,  85  ;  ii,   12  +, 

16,   56  +,    70+,    102,    133  +, 

24^^^,  3''^9.  402,  403,  404  +,  406  4- 
Donatz  Froensals,  Lo,  ii,  411 
Dramatic   Literature,    i,    44  +, 

213 +,  410,  414,  449,  475  ;  ii, 

15,  92,  100,  290,  372  + 
Drome,  The,  i,  96  + 
Druids,    The,    i,    276,    380,   386, 

488 
Duns  Scotus,  i,  271 
Duran,  Peire,  i,  484 
Dyeing,  i,  137  ;  ii,  295 

Eating  and  Drinking  :  see  Food 
Eble  II  (of  Ventadorn),  ii,  156, 

357.  405 +,  412,  459 
Bble  III  (of  Ventadorn),  ii,  155 

+  ,  183  + 
Eble  V  (of  Ventadorn),  ii,  207, 

240,  423 
Eble  d'Uissel,  ii,  381 
Education  of  Boys,  i,  228  + 
Education  of  Girls,  ii,  69  + 
Egletons,  ii,  151,  174 
Egypt,  i,  168  ;  ii,  124  +,  160 
Eleanor  (Queen  of  France  and 

of  England),  i,   217,   450  ;  ii, 

184 +,   241,    300,    340-+-,    347, 

375,  412 +,  452,465 
Elias  de  Barjols,  i,  192,  445 
Elias  d'Uissel,  ii,  27  +,  381,  422 
Elias  Rudel :  see  Rudel 
Elo'ise,  i,  116 
England,   i,    136;    ii,    114,    124, 

184,   187,    251,    268,   375,   376, 

407 
English  Literature,  ii,  375 
Enric  (son  of  Henry  II),  ii,  106, 

242  +,  250  -I  ,  39"6,  427,  432  + 


488 


The  Troubadours  at   Home 


Erniengarda  (of  Castres),  i,  360 
Ertnengarda   (of  Narbonne),   i, 

211 +,  357,  450;  ii,    188,  270, 

316 
Ermengaud,  Matfre,  i,  126,  130, 

436 
Escaronha,  ii,  261  +,  435  + 
Escotidich,  ii,  450 
Espaly,  ii,  30,  31,34 -r 
Esquire,    The,    i,    229,    452  ;    ii, 

137,  146 +,  236,403 
Esiampida,  i,  424 
Este,  i,  338  +  ;  ii,  372 
Etienue  de  Bourbon,  i,  373,  4S6 

+  ,  491  ;  ii,  21,  380 
Etiquette,  i,  60,  65,  172,  215,  353  ; 

ii,  56^,71+,  78,  131  +,   136 

+  ,    138,  139 +.   142,    146,  148, 

228,  403 
Eudoxia,  i,  389,  394,   437,  490  + 
Eustace  (son  of  King  Stephen), 

i.  149 
Evening-Songs,  ii,  361,  450 
Excideuil,  ii,  259  -+-,  264,  270 
Eyes,  ii,  390 
Ezzelino  da  Romano  :  see  Aice- 

lin 

Fable,  ii,  42,  383 

Faidit,  Gaucelm,  i,  10  -f  ;  ii,  89, 
192 +,  199,  202 +,  227,  259, 
317,  359.  381,  416,  417,  434> 
447 

Faidit,  U.,  ii,  411 

Fairies,  ii,  351,  468 

Fairs,  i,  15  +  ;  ii,  122  +,  400 

Felibres,    The,    i,    34,    81,    412, 

445  ;  ii,  21 

Ferrara,  i,  339 

Feudal  Regime,  The,  i,  318  +, 
383,  421,  439,  472  ;  ii,  41,  49, 
54+,    64+,  247  +-,   275,  402, 

432,  442 
Fiction,  ii,  405 
Figeac,  ii,  23 
Figueira,    Guilhem,    i,    387  +, 

405,  489 
Flamenca,    i,    151,    214  +,    299, 

448,  449  ;  ii,  196,  265,  409 
Floral  Games,  The,   i,  344.  479 

^  ;  ii,  373.  444 


Florence,  i,  258,  340,  387,  489 
Foix,    1,    298,    311,    321  +,    472, 

489 ;  ii,  372 

Folquet  de  L,unel,  i,  435  +,  460 
Folquet  de  Marseilla,  i,  343,  388 

+  ,  400 +,  456,   489  -t    ;  ii,   180 

+  ,  188,  199,  258,  264,  317,  434 
Folquet  de  Romans,  i,  461,  490 
Food,    Eating,    Drinking,    and 

Table-service,  i,   167 +,  442; 

ii,  57,  127,  133,  136 +  ,  144,  148, 

403,  404 
Francesco  da  Barberino,   i,  98, 
248,  451,  469  ;  ii,  18,  359,  380, 

429 
Frederic    11  (The   Emperor),    i, 
267,  460,  461,  489  ;  ii,  374,  394, 

474 
French    Literature,  ii,  373,    374 

+  ,  474 
Furniture,  ii,  133  4  ,   145  +,  160 

+  ,407 
Furs,   1,    165,    169,    441  ;  11,    132, 
468 

Gaillac,  i,  2S1,  376  +,  463  +  ;  ii, 

22 
Gardening,  i,  85 
Gar  in  lo  Brun,  ii,  71  +,  388 
Garonne,  The,  i,    193  ;   ii,   303, 

311  + 
Gascony,  i,    10,    no,    in,    328; 

ii,    20,    116,    236,    261,    297+, 

399,  417,  435,  451  + 
Gaucelm  Faidit :  see  Faidit,  G. 
Gaudairenca,  i,  361 
Gauseran  de  Sain  Leidier,  ii,  388 
Genoa,  i,  137,  208,  256,  257,  300, 

407,  458,  459,  463  ;  ii,  123 
Gentleman,  The,  ii,  56  + 
GeofFroi  de  Vigeois,  ii,  222,  410, 

424 

Geography,  i,  128 

Geographical  World  of  the 
Troubadours,  i,  117,  241,  254 
+  ;  ii,  20  +,  258  +,  381 

Germonda,  i,  388 

Gerona  i,  369,  455,  486 

Gidas,  ii,  27  +,  382 

Giraldus    Cambrensis,    ii,    241, 

253,  425 


IKlcX    (»t 


(Tsons, 


laces,  and   Siil))c(is     4S9 


Girart  de  Rossillf)n,  ii,  250,  389, 

402,  407 
Giraudo  lo  Ros,  i,  475 
Glan villa  :  see  Bartholointw  of 

Glanvilla 
Goito,  i,  257  +,  459 
Gold-beating,  i,  137 
Government,  i,  383,  435  ;  ii,  39, 

41,  122,  128,  129,  148,  149,  248, 

299.  382,  401,  432 
Gramtnont,  i,  219,  451 
Graudselve,  i,  406,  492 
Granet,  i,  427 
Greece,  i,  136  ;  ii,  124  i- 
Greek  Culture  and  Influence,  i, 

15,  119,  275,  286  ;  ii,  327  + 
Gucscliu,  Du,  ii,  33,  155 
Gui  de  Cavaillon,  i,  14,  112,  410. 

432 
Gui  d'Uissel,  i,  446,  460  ;  ii,   25 

r,  89,  207,381  + 
Guida  (of  Rodez),    i,    265,    267, 

462 
Guilds,  ii,  128,  401 
Guilheni   III  (of  Mouferrat),   i, 

52,  172,  415  + 
Guilhem    IV   (of  Monferrat),   i, 

338,  426,  474 
Guilheni  VIII  (of  Aquitaine),  ii, 

341  + 
Guilhem  VIII  (of  Moutpellier), 

i,  ^i7,  151,  335,  364,  413-  437, 
467,  490  ;  ii,  27 

Guilhem  IX  (of  Aquitaine),  i, 

330;  ii,   107,   156,  340 +,  358, 

371,  410,  459,  466  + 
Guilhem  de  Balaun,  i,  437  -h 
Guilhem   de   Berguedan,  i,  248 

+  ,  337,  456;  ii,  233 
Guilhem  de  Cabestaing,   i,  228 

+  ,    452  4-,   455  ;    ii,    19,    258, 

434 
Guilhem  de  la  Tor,  ii,  451 
Guilhem   del   Bauz,  i,  33,  40  +, 

51,  84,  86,  388,  415/426,  427, 

437,  460  ;  ii,  89 
Guilhem   de    Montagnagout,    i, 

352,  450 
Guilhem  de  Sain  Gregori,  ii,  431 
Guilhem  de  Sain  Leidier,  ii,  48 

-f,  86+,  259,  271,  385  +,  417 


Guillerni!!,  i,  id,  iii,   109   '    ;  ii, 

303 
Guinicelli.  Guido,  i,  181,203 
Guiraut  de   Borneil,  1,  318,  446, 

455  +  ;  ii,  89,  J 46,  259,  261  +, 
317,  359,  417,  434,  44«,  449, 
472 

Guiraut  de  Calanson,  i.  216,456; 

ii,  417 
Guiraut   Riquier  :    see    Riquier, 

Guiraut. 
Guischarda,  ii,  226  -•- ,  240 

Hannibal,  i,  83,  226,  240,  427 
Hautefort   (Auta/ort),    ii,    188, 

221  +,  234,  243',  249,   259,  413, 

428 
Hawkers,  ii,  126 
Henry  II  (of  England),   i,    149, 

456  ;  ii,  106,  184  +,  219  +,  224, 
241  +,  250 +,  300,   303,    317, 

347,  396,  413,  425+,  427 
Heraclius  de  Polonhac,  ii.  5=5  +, 

386 
Heraldry,  11,  237,  430 
Herodias,  i,  135 
Herrat,  i,  127 

History,  i,  128,  135,  136  ;  ii,  144 
Homer,   ii,    141,    145,    269,   404, 

440 
Honor,  Personal,  i,  62,  266,  353  ; 

ii,  74,  234,  245 
Horace,  ii,  269,  437 
Horses,    i,   41 +,    467,    470;    ii, 

133,  236.  237,  239 
Hortiis  Dcliciaruni,  i,    127  ;  ii, 

430 
Hugues   de   vSt.    Victor,   i,   127  ; 

ii,  140,  403 
Hungary,  i,  307,  463 
Hunting   aud    Hawking,   i,   86, 

229,  452,  460  ;  ii,  70,  137,  227, 

429 
Husbands,  The  Role  of,  i,  59      , 

233,  421 
Hygiene,  1,  131  -  ;  ii.   140,  147, 
148,  404 

Industrial  Art,  ii,  79+,  124 +, 
130,  134  +,  159  +,  235  +.  268, 
406  +,439  + 


490 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Industrial  Life,  i,  7,  293  ;  ii,  126 

+  ,  128,  292  + 
Innocent  III,  i,  271,  381  + 
Inquisition,  The,  i,  328  +,  374, 

384,  473,  486 
Intellectual   Atmosphere,    The, 

i,   120 +,   194;  ii,  268+,  438, 

440 
Isaure,  Clemence,  i,  479  + 
Issoire,  ii,  86,  103  + 
Italian    Literature,    i,    414 ;     ii, 

374,  473 
Italian  Troubadours,  The,  i,  254 

+ ,  457  + 
Izarn,  i,  388,  489 

Jasmin,  Jacques,  i,  192,  445,  480  ; 

ii,  245  + 
Jaufre  Rudel  :  see  Rudel 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  ii,  35,  36,  175,  467 
Jeux  Floraux,  Les,  i,  344,  479 

+  ;  ii,  373,  444 
Jewelry,  1,   165,  169,  442  ;  11,  79, 

125,   160  -r,  236,  406 
Jews,  The,  i,   15,  333,  380,  436, 

457;  ii,  "7,  128,  269 
Joe  Parht,  ii,  449 
Joglars,  The,  i,  5,  350,  407  ;  ii, 

77   +,    132  +,    138,    140,    144, 

148,  195  +,  232,  245  +,  326  +, 

338,  368,  395,  416  +,  449,  463 
John  of  Salisljury,  ii,  266,  437 
Jordana  d'Ebrun,  ii,  424 
Jordan,  Raimon,  ii,  429 
Joy  (>/),  i,  68,  150 
Justin,  ii,  327 

Kissing,  i,  61,  170,  174,  251,  299, 

301,  31'*^,  352,  430,  474  ;  ii,  48, 

148,  167,  263,  355 
Knighthood,  i,  451,  452  ;  u,  74 

+  ,    132  +,     237  -i-,    275,    304, 

402 
Knights  Templar,  ii,  33 

Labachellerie,  i,  10,  409 
Ladyhood,   i,  65;  ii,   71+,    139 

+  ,  142,  228 
Lamanou,   B.   de  :    see  Bertran 

deL. 
Laments,  i,  267  ;  ii,  83,  204,  391, 

433,  449 


Lanfranc  Cigala  :  see  Cigala 
Languedoc,  i,  328,  380,  383  ;  ii, 

20,  473  (see  Toulouse) 
Lapidaries,  i,  129 
Lastours,  i,  297 
Lavaur,  i,  384 
Law,   i,    125,   135,   146,  436  ;  ii, 

41,  54,  126  +,  235,  294  +,  299, 

381  + 
Leon  (Spain),   i,    no,  263,  456; 

459  ;  ii,  270 
Lepers,  ii,  128 
Levant,    The,    i,    139,    168,    209, 

279,  301,  380;  ii,  79,  124,  125, 

160,  237,  269,  282 
Leys  Datnors,  Las,  ii,  284,  286, 

444  + 

Libraries  :  see  Books 

Life  in  the  Troubadour  Age,  i, 
6+,  12 +,44,  624-,  86,  III, 
120,  229,  248+,  373;  ii,  12 +, 
27,  39,  42,  54+,  64+,  70+, 
102,  III  +,  115  -4-,  131,  149, 
223  +,  245,  248  +,  276,  290  + 

Life  of  the  Troubadours,  i,  43  +, 
49,  110+,  172,  204 +,  212, 
219,  274,  298,  318,  346,  352  +  ; 
ii,  27,  39,  100,  188,  208,  217, 
228,  262  +,  271,  319,  356 

Lights,  ii,  144,  145,   146 

Limoges,  ii,  160,  190,  257,  266, 
270 +,  275,  327,  349,  401,  406, 

438 
Limousin,  ii,  21,  155,  174  +,  190, 

399,  407,  473 
Literary   Criticism    among   the 

Troubadours,  i,   in,  308,  351, 

446  ;  ii,  274,  441,  442 
Livy,  ii,  269,  437 
Loba   de    Puegnautier,    i,     29S, 

304-h,  352  +,  466,  483 
Lombardy,    i,   44,    117,     254 -^, 

338+,  457;  ii.  451 
Lombers,  i,  354  +>  381.  484 
Louis  VII  (King  of  France),  ii, 

107,  119,  398, '413 
Louis  IX  (King   of  France),  i, 

487 
Love  in  the  Troubadour  Age,  i, 
12,  46,  58 +,   155  +,   177,  215 
+  ,  218,  248,  251,  266,  352,  429 


Index  of  Persons,  Places,  and  Subjects    491 


Love —  Continued 
443,  469,  483,  488  ;  ii,  28  +,  44 
+  ,  72,    168,    180 +,  208,  262, 
354-  3S0,  391  -1-,  397,  409,  414, 
436,  437,  451 

Love-letters,  i,  172,  443 

Love-making,  i,  44;  ii,  92+, 
142  +,  167,  262,  361  + 

Love-songs :  see  Causons 

Lunel,  i,  119,  121,  435,  450 

Luuel,  F.  de  :  see  Folquet  de  L. 

Lyons,  ii,  327,  395 

Maeut,  ii,  223  +,  226  t^,  406, 
428  + 

Magic,  Incantations,  and  Divi- 
nation, i,  131,  136,  436  ;  ii, 
49,  141,  148,  404,  451,  471  + 

Magret,  Guilhem,  i,  488 

Maillane,  i,  33,  412 

Malaspina,  A.  de  :  see  Albert  de 
M. 

Malemort  (iMalainort),  ii,  211 
+  ,  227,  424 

Malta,  i,  308,  463 

Manfred  (II)  Lanza,  i,  256,  309, 

457,  470 
Mantua,  1,  257,  259 
Manufactures,    i,    168,    293  ;    ii, 

124,    126,    135,    159 +,    236+, 

400,  406  + ,  439 
Marbodus,  i,  129,  436 
Marcabru,  i,    446,  456,  475  ;  ii, 

92  +,  113  +,  303,  316,  358,  396 

+  ,  418,  448,  459.  460 
March,  Ausias,  ii,  473 
Mareuil,  i,   140 +,  18S,  438;  ii, 

190 
Margarida  d'Albusso,  ii,  27,  77, 

382,  391,424  + 
Margarida  de  Rossillon,  i,  230  + 
Margarida  de  Ventadorn,  ii,  156 

+  ,  183 +,  187,  315,  405 +,  412 
Maria   de    Champagne,   i,   217, 

432,  450  ;  ii,  318,  375,  474 
Maria  de  Ventadorn,  i,  11,  217; 

ii,  17,  28,  77,  207  -h,  223,  240, 

317,  382,  406,  423+,  428  + 
Marsan  :  see  Arnaut  G.  de  M. 
Marseille  {Marseilla),  i,  275  +, 

298,  301,  303,  389,  463  +,  488, 


489  ;  ii,  76,  123,  282,  359,  389, 

401 
Martial,  i,  131 

Martial  d'Auvergne,  i,  216,  449 
Marti,  Bernart,  i,  472 
Maruelh,  A.  de  :  see  Arnaut  de 

Maruelh. 
Matrimony,  i,  59  +,  151.  268  -t-, 

361,  439';  ii,  28,  127,  443 
Mauleon,  i,  409 
Mauleon,  S.  de  :  see  Savaric  de 

Mauleon. 
Mazarin,  ii,  25 
Measure  (3Iesura),  i,   151,  156; 

ii,  loi 
Medicine,  i,  130  +,  136,  436  -f  ; 

ii,  70 
Mediterranean,  The,  i,  138,  139, 

240,  242,  275,  279  ;  ii,  20 
Meistersingers,  i,  343 
Merchaderius,  ii,  400 
Mercoeur,  ii,  66  + 
Merlin,  i,  136 
1    Minerve,  i,  483 
I    Minnesingers,  The,  i,  301,  343, 

455,  493  ;  ii,  78,  375,  384,  474 
I    Miquel  de  la  Tor,  ii,  384 
Miraval,R.  de  :  see  Raimon  de 

Miraval. 
:    Miravals,  i,  345  -t-,  347,  363 
j    Mistral  (the  poet),   i,  33 +,   81, 

364,    407,    412,    413,    445  ;    ii, 

373 
Mistral  (the  wind),  i,  36  +,  413 

Moliere,  ii,  175 

Monasteries  and  Monastic  Life, 
i,  125,  380,  400,  436,  491  ;  ii> 
6+,    10,    r8,    39,    129  +,  342, 
379,  402,  404,  438  + 
i    Moncalvo,  i,  53 
;    Money,   i,   229;  ii,   125 +,    134, 
I       382,  386,  401 
Monferrat,  1,  32,  33,  52  -y-,   172, 
307,  338,  415  +,  45S,  463,   474 

+  ;  ii,  394 
j    Monferrat :  see  Biatritz,  Bonifaz, 
I        Conrat,  Guilhem 
Monk    of  Montaudon,    The,    i, 

199,   274.   309-    3 '4.    349,    363, 

465,493;  ii,  5^  .  173,  207.258, 

317,  379^,394,422 


492 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Montaigne,  ii,  297,  311,  451 
Montaudou,   ii,   379  (see  Monk 

of  M.) 
Montesquieu,  ii,  297,  300,  311 
Montfort,  S.  de  :  see  Simon  de 

Montfort. 
Montignac  (Montanhac),  ii,  223 
Montpellier  (Monpeslier),  i,  108, 

119 +,  125  +,  136 +,  153,  181, 

335,  388,  389.  436,  437,  489  ;  ii, 
21,  126 +,  149,  295,  401 
Morals  of  the  Troubadour 
World,  i,  58  +,  215,  218,  352 
+  ,  422  ;  ii,  18  +,  28,  42,  64  +, 
92  +,  99,  103,  115,  123,  126, 
208,  226,  228,  264,  267,  276,  322, 

344-  356,  361  +,  377,  380,  ^397 

+  ,401,  437 
Morning-Songs  {Albas),  ii,  277, 

323,  443,  450,  451 
Muret,  i,  365  +,  383,  484  + 
Music,  i,   135  ;  ii,   71,   125,    127, 

140,  144,  163,  196  +,  205,  279, 

288,  331,   336,    365,  382,    388, 

393,  412,  416  +,  418,  443,  447 
Musical    Instruments,    ii,     197, 

201,  421,  431,  464 
Musical  Notation,  ii,  200,  420 

Najac,  ii,  22 

Narbonne,  i,  206 +,  219 +,  448 
+  ;  ii,  21,  271,  282,  360,  372, 

413,  439,  470 
Nature  in  Troubadour  Poetry, 
i,  75,  155,  169,  194,  198,  252, 
265,  302,  316,  317,  340,  351, 
446;  li,  73,  119,  162,  178,  185, 
238,  261,  278,  309,  323,  334  +, 

344,  355,  414  +,  469 
Navarre,  ii,  270,  276,  399 
Needlework,   i,  64,   229 ;  ii,   70, 

79+,  1G0+,  237,  389,  406 
Nightingale,  The,  1,  193,  315 
Nismes,   i,   119,   389,  435,    489; 

ii,  123,  384,  401 
Nonsense-verse,  ii.  273 
Nontron,  i,  140 
Nostradamus,  i,  318,  407 
Novella,  Augier,  ii,  416 

Occimiano,  i,  53,  63 


Odierna,  ii,  307  +,  453 

Orange  {Aurenga),  i,  24  +,  68, 

90,  411,  412 
Origins   of  Troubadour  Poetry, 

i,  386,  488  ;  ii,  324  +,  354,  356 

+  ,  463,  465 
Ovid,  1,  136,  447,  488  ;  11,  269,437 

Painting,   i,    219,    271  ;    ii,    130, 

134  +,  145 
Palena,  i,  272 

Palermo,  i,  420  ;  ii,  159,  473 
Pamiers,  i,  335  +,  473,  475  + 
Paolo  and  Francesca,  i,  200 
Papiol,  ii,  245  +,251 
Paris,    i,    129,    169 ;  ii,    10,    125, 

266,  375,  400,  401 
Parodies,  i,  461  + 
Fartimen,  ii,  449  + 
Pastorals,  ii,  92  +,  361  -1-,  364, 

451 
Patriotism,  ii,  248 
Paulet  de  Marseilla,  i,  465 
Pavia,  i,  49  ;  ii,  236 
Peasants,  ii,  128,  138,  402 
Peguilha,  A.  de  :    see    Aimeric 

de  P. 
Peire   II   (King   of  Aragon),    i, 

357,  364+,  411,   455.   484+  ; 
ii,  28,  89,  440 
Peire  III   (King  of  Aragon),  i, 

325  +      . 
Peire  Cardinal  :  see  Cardinal 
Peire  d'Alvernhe,  i,  314 +,429, 

446,    456,   471  +  ;  ii,  89,    156, 

258,  271,  317,  359.  434,  448 
Peire  de  Barjac,  i,  437  + 

Peire  de  Corbiac,  i,  132  +  ;   ii, 

286,  452 
Peire  de  la  Mula,  ii,  196,  416 
Peire  de  Maensac,  ii,  395 
Peire  d'Uissel,  ii,  381  +,  421 
Peire  de  Valeira,  i,  315 
Peire  Raimon  :  see  Raimon 
Peire  Rogier  :  see  Rogier 
Peire  Vidal :  see  Vidal 
Peirol,  i,  426,  461  ;  ii,  90  -t-,  117, 

259,  394,  418 
Pelizier  (?),  i,  461 

Penautier  (Fuegnautier),  i,  2S1, 
464 


Index  of  Persons,  Places,  and  Subjects    49^ 


Perdigo,  i,  38.H  ;  ii,  89   t  ,  392  +, 

449 
Perfiiines,  i,  94  ;  ii,  147,  160,404 
Perigueux,  ii,  240,  281  +,  444 
Perpignan,    i,   224+,   239,   327, 

451  ;  ii,  270 
Persia,  i,  168  ;  ii,  48,  160 
Peter  the  Venerable,  i,  330 
Petrarch,  i,    23,   28+,   69,    199, 

200,    202,   314,  338,  412,   445, 

455.  476  ;  ii,  429,  459.  473 
Philippa,  i,  98 
Philippe     Auguste      (King     of 

France),  i,  191,  471  ;  ii,  7,  10, 

203,  241,  402,  404  + 
Pilgriniages,   i,   474  ;  ii,    36,   61, 

148,  425 
Pisa,  i,  57,  137,  149.  208  ;  ii,  123 
Plato,  ii,  269 
Poitiers,  i,  489  ;  ii,  159,  326,  327, 

340,  345  ->.-,    406,   466    ;     (see 

Poitou) 
Poitou,  i,  408  ;  ii,  20,   125,   135, 

T59.  237,  240  +,  332,  334,  399, 

473  (see  Poitiers) 
Polignac  (Polonhac),  ii,    29,    48 

+  ,271,  385  + 
Polnnnhac,  ii,  23  -1- 
Poniaro,  i,  63 
Ponsa,  i,  1 16 
Pons  de  Capduelh,  ii,  66  +  ,  89, 

224,  259,  317,  388+,  417,  419 
Pons   Guiraut   de   Cabreira,    ii, 

417 
Popular    Poetry,     i,     316,     457  ; 

ii,  202,  327,  337,  364,  374,  397, 
444,  463  +,  468 
Portugal,  i,  263  ;  ii,  374,  473 
Portuguese  Language  and  Liter- 
ature, i,  42,  458,  482  ;  ii,  374, 

471,  473 
Pradas,  D.  de  :  see  Daude  de  P. 
Preaching,  i,  122,  380  -!- ;  ii,  286 
Provencal    Language,   The,    ii, 

175 +,  410+,  459 
Provenfal  Literature,  i,  408  ;  ii, 

372  + 
Provence,  1,   i  +,  34,   281,  328; 

ii,  21 
Provence-beyond-the-Rhone,   i, 

2  +,  14  +,  18  +,  36  +,  90,  95, 


III,  281,  328,  431,475  ;  ii,  20 

+,  258 

Provence,  The  Countess  of  ;  see 
Countess  of  Provence 

Proverbs  and  Sayings,  i,  2,  42, 
44,  46,  57,  60,  63,  67,  69,  90  r  , 
132,  146,  152,  157,  176  +,  192, 
201,  212,  263  +,  265,  267,  279, 
286,  299,  303,  308,  316,  336, 
339-  349.  353,  359,  360,  361, 
393.  394.  443,  488  ;  n,  75,  82, 
139.  167.  198,  217,  237,  263, 
272,  318  -H,  414   i  ,  462,  469 

Puegnautier,  L.  de  :  see  Loba  de 
Puegnautier 

Puivert,  i,  314,  318 

Pulci,  i,  69 

Punishments,  ii,  55,  126  +,  128, 
401 

Puy,  Le,  ii,  16  +,  21,  29  +,  30  +, 
321,  382+,  391,  427 

Puy,  Le,  Court  ot,  ii,  16,  321 

Pyrenees,  The,  i,  138,  139,  192, 
226,  227,  282,  311 +,  320 +, 
336  ;  ii,  297 

Quillan,  i,  311,  313 

Rabelais,  i,  7  ;  ii,  9,  175 

Raimbaut  d'Aurenga,  i,  86  +, 
99,  100 +,  127,  140,  145,  149, 
199,  218,  289,  314,  317,  427  +, 
446-^,  471;  ii,  258,  270,  274, 

316,  359,  434.  441.  454.  475 
Raimbaut  de  Vaqueiras,  i,  14, 
20+,  31  +,  33  +,  39,  41  +, 
57  +.  65  +,  84,  86,  145,  172, 
255,  256,  258,  274,  307,  412  +, 
415 +,  437,  456,  460,  461  ;  li, 
19,  258,  317,  359,  434 
Raimon  (of  St.  Gilles,  Count  ot 

Toulouse),  i,  429 
Raimon  V  (of  Toulouse),  i,  149, 
218,  307,  330,    342,    389,    402, 

475,  489.  491  ;  ii,  7,  188 
Raimon    \T    (of   Toulouse),    i, 

342,  350,  364.  381  +,  410,  487 ; 
ii,  40 
Raimon    VII    (of  Toulouse),    i, 

487 
Raimon    Bereuguier    IV,    i,    4, 

268  ;  ii,  452 


494 


The  Troubadours  at  Home 


Raimoii    Rogier  (of  B^ziers),  i, 

292+,  472 
Raitnon     Rogier     (of   Foix),    i, 

325.  336.  352,  483 
Raimon,    Peire,    i,    331  +,    336, 

337,  473  +  ;  ii.  258 
Raimon  de  Miraval,  i,  63,    346 

+  ,    402,    466,    482  +  ;    ii,    28, 

188,  258,  317 
Raimon  de  Rossillon,  i,  228  + 
Rainol,  Guilhem,  i,  387,  488 
Ra-os,  The,  i,  434 
Razos  de  Trobar,  ii,    176,  411, 

472 
Religion  and  the  Church,  i,  72, 

121  +,  125,  245  +,  303,  328  +, 

370 +,  386  +,  444,  470  +,  486 

+  >  493;  ",  9+.   18  +,  39,  40 

+  ,  46+,   129 +,   134,    147 +, 

149,  382,  383,  402,  473 
Rene,  King,  1,  5,  408  ;   ii,  400 
Restrictions  of  Business,  ii,  126 

+  ,  292 
Rhone,  The,  i,  82  ^,  95  +,  286, 

311.  471 
Rhyme,  ii,  285  + 
Riberac,  i,  188  ;  ii,  291  -1-,  451 
Richard,  Coeur-de-Lion,  i,   172, 

19^.  247,  303,   304,    350,    389. 

470+,  491;  "1  7,   II,  203  +, 

222  +,  233  +,  240  +,  247,  251 

+  ,  260,  271,  283,  300,  315,  340, 

349,    395.  422  +.  427+,    431, 

434 
Richart   (Count    of    Sain    Boni- 

faci),  i,  259  + 
Richelieu,  i,  37  ;  ii,  25,  89 
Rigaut  de  Berbesiu,    ii,    318  +, 

460  + 
Riquier,    Guiraut,    i,    216,    436, 

456,  460,  465;     ii,  358+,  417, 

463 
Roads,  ii,  120-122 
Robert  I :  see  Dalfiu,  The 
Rocamadour,  ii,  23,  253,  425,  433 
Rodez,  1,  264  +,  428,  432,  435  +, 

459;  ii,  23,  360,  372,  470,  472 
Rodez,   The   Count   of,    i,    109, 

431,  432 
Roger  de  Parma,  i,  12,5 
Rogier  (of  Beziers),  i,  149 


Rogier     Bernart    II    (Count  of 

Foix),  i,  472,  483 
Rogier   Bernart   III   (Count  of 

Foix),  i,  325  + 
Rogier,    Peire,     i,     212 +,     241, 

314,   315,  448+,  456;    ii,  89, 

107,   1S8,   258,    316,    359,    376, 

434 
Roland,  i,  73,  468  ;  ii,  307 
Roman,  ii,  451 
Romance  Languages  and 

Poetry,  ii,  177,  324 +,  444 
Romances,  i,   146,   214 ;   ii,    142 

+  ,285 
Rome,  i,  129,  410 
Roumanille,  i,  34,  81,  412,  480 
Round,  The,  ii,  450 
Roussillon    {Rossillon),  i, 

226  + 
Rudel,  Elias,  i,  10,  409 
Rudel,    Jaufre,    ii,    303  +, 

318,  358,  434,  452  + 
Rudel,  Jaufre,  i,  10,  409 
Rudolf  de  Neuenburg,  i,  301 
Ruscino,  i,  226 


224, 


312, 


ii,    96+,    387, 


Sail  de  Claustra, 

393,  394 

vSain  Circ,  U.  de  :  see  Ugo  de  S. 
Circ 

Sain  Leidier,  G.  de  :  see  Guil- 
hem de  S.  L. 

St.  Benedict,  ii,  438 

St.  Bernard,  i,  399,  487  ;    ii,  268 

+  ,  341  + 
St.  Dominic,  1,  374,  379 
St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  i,  255,  379, 

457  ;  ii,  116 
St.  Gilles,  i,  284  -t-,  382,  463  -,- 
St.  Just  (Narbonne),  i,  210  + 
St.  Louis,  i,  131  ;  ii,  36,  401 
St.  Michel  (Le  Puy),  ii,   31,    -^i 

+  ,  37 
St.  Nazaire  (Beziers),  i,  185  + 
St.  Pachomius,  ii,  438 
St.  Pamphilius,  ii,  438 
St.  Remy,  i,  34,  413 
St.  Sebastian,  i,  220 
St.  Victor  :  see  Hugues  de  St.  V. 
Saissac,  i,  281  +,   298,   362,   463 

+ 


Index  of  l\irsons,  Places,  and  Subjects    495 


Sainbonifacio  {Sain  Boni/aci), 
i,  259,  474  + 

Saragossa,  i,  457 

Savaricde  Mauleon,  i,  9  +,  m, 
263+,  408  +,  431,  434,  456; 
ii,  242,  303,  461 

Science,  i,  122  +,  135  +  ;  ii, 
70 

Sculpture,  i,  286,  330 

Seneca,  ii,  269 

Serena  :  see  Evening-Song 

Serfs,  ii,  128  +,  402 

Serveri  (of  Geroua),  i,  455 

Sescas,  A.  de  :  see  Amanieu  de 
Sescas 

Sicart  de  Figueiras,  i,  489 

Sicily,  i,  420 ;  ii,  135,  i59.  374, 
400 

Simon  de  Montfort,  i,  185,  292, 
297.  325.  363  +,  366,  383.  388, 
403  +  465,  474,  485,  487,  492 

Sirvente,  The,  i,  9,  41,  426  -+-  ;  ii, 
231,  245+,  449 

Sirventes,  i,  50,  73,  75,  314,  326, 
417,  462,  467,  470;  ii,  15,  40 
+  ,  46,  103  +,  232  +,  238,  251 
+  ,  276,  350,  383,  432  (see  also, 
Crusades,  Songs  on  the,  and 
Laments) 

Soave,  i,  259,  459 

Social  Rank  of  the  Troubadours, 
i,  336  ;  ii,  102,  371,  472 

Society  of  the  Troubadour  Age, 
The,  i,  150  +,  176,  215  +,  352 
+  ,  380,  422,  438,  439,  443,  488  ; 
ii,  12,  16  +,  18  +,  28,  40  +, 
64  +,  99,  123,  126  +,  131  +, 
138  +,  149,  171,  228,  245,  250, 
276,  290  f,  318  +,  344  +, 
348,  372,  373,  389,  395,  396, 
397.  402,  407,  442.  450,  470 

Socrates,  ii,  440 

Sonnet,  The,  ii,  288,  447 

Sophocles,  ii,  269,  440 

Sordel,  i,  4,  254,  258  +,  325,  340, 
456,  457  +  ;  ii,  28,    258,   316, 

359.  417 
Sortes  Apostolorum ,  ii,  148,  404 
.Sources   of  our   Knowledge  of 

the  Troubadours,   i,  99,    117, 

409,  434+ 


Spanish  Literature,  ii,  374 
Stationery,  i,  172  ;  ii,  267 
Stephen    (King  of  England),  i, 

149  ;  ii,  407 
Stories,  Favorite,  i,  423,  469  ;  ii, 

13,  138  +,  140,  141  -1-,  144  +, 

159,  403  - 
Strabo,  i,  36  ;  ii,  381 
Strasso,  Family,  The,  i,  261 
Students,  ii,  265 
Study,     i,    125    (    ;     ii,     265   +, 

437-  438.  466 
Surgery,  1,  131,  136  ;  n,  70  + 
Syria,  ii,  237 

Table-Talk  :  see  Conversation 
Tacitus,  ii,  269 

Talebearers  and  Busybodies,  i, 
69,   93.   115,  233;  ii,   60,   263, 

354,  397,  435 
Tapestries,  n,  135,  159,  406 
Tarascon,  i,  23,  411  ;  ii,  400 
Taverns,  ii,  402 
Tenso,  The,  i,  9  ;  ii,    289,    328, 

449+.  472 
Tensos,  i,  10  +,  44  +,  50,  102  +, 
109  +,  458;  ii,  28,    274,    290, 

436,  441 
Thebes,  136 
Thomas  Aquinas,  i,  271 
Thoronet,  Le,  i,  396+,  491  + 
Tibors,  i,  461 
Time,  ii,  404 
Toilet,   The,   ii.   71,   79  +,   139, 

146  + 

Tokens  of  Affection,  i,  66,  94, 
299,  466  ;  ii,  263  (see  Kissing) 

Toledo,  ii,  367,  369  (see  Castile) 

Tornac,  i,  113 

Tornada,  The,  ii,  288,  44S 

Tortona,  i,  46,  415 

Toulouse,  i,  139,  149,  218,  242, 
264,  280,  286,  328  +,  342  +, 
364,  387,  402  +,  410,  463,  473 
+  ,  479  +,  484,  487;  ii,  188, 
232,  240,  254,  284, 294, 315,  349, 
467 

Tour  Blanche,  La,  ii,  451 

Tourde  L'Hers,  i,  82,  427 

Tournaments  and  Tilting,  i,  41, 
86  ;  ii,  58,  73.  74,  i33,  148 


496 


The  TroLihadours  at  Home 


Towns,  i,  276,  332  +,  435  ;  ii, 
122  +,  126  +,  282,  292  +,  299 

Travel,  i,  43,  159,  229  ;  ii,  120  + 

Trees,  i,  85,  ibS  ;  ii,  120,  122, 
126,  132,  154,  248,  355,  409 

Treviso,  i,  117,  261 

Troubadour  Poetry  in  General, 
i,  6,  9,  31,  45,  58,  193 +,  316 
+  ,  446;  ii,    178,  283,  286,  287    I 

+  .  373 
Troubadours,  The  :  see  the  Sy- 
noptical Table   of    Contents, 
vol.   ii,  p.  479;  for  a  list  see 
vol.  ii,  p.  477 
Trouveres,  The,  ii,  375,  474 
Troy,  i,  128,  136  ;  ii,  145,  404 
Turenne  {Torena),   i,   no,  431, 
432;  ii,  156,  207,  405  +,  42.S 

Ugo     Bruneuc  :    see     Brunenc, 

Ugo 
Ugo  de    la  Bacalairia,    i,    10-+-, 

409  ;  ii,  89 
Ugo   del    Bauz,   i,   2S9,    465  ;  ii, 

89  + 
Ugo  de  Marescalc,  ii,  60  -r 
Ugo  de  Mataplana,  i,  456,  484 
Ugo  de  Sain  Circ,  i,  107  — ,    114 

+  ,  126,  132,  145,  241,  264,  318, 

388,  409  +,  431  +,  434,  456; 

li,  89,  258,  300  -f .  310,  317,  396, 

414,  434,  467 
Uissel  :  see  Gui,  Elias 
Universities,   i,    7,   329  ;    ii,    266 
Urban,  Pope,  ii,  36,  107 
Ussel  {Uissel),  ii,  26  -^,  381,  382 
Uzerche,  ii,  igo,  223,  416,  425 

Vacqueiras,  i,  18    r,  74,  90   410 

Valence,  i,  103,  431 

Vaqueiras,    R.    de  :     see    Raim- 

baut  de  V. 
Vaucluse,  i,  27  +,  411  -f,  488 
Velay  :  see  Auvergne 
Venice,  i,  168,  257  ;  ii,  123,  125, 

160,  282 
Ventadorn  :  see  Bernart,  Maria 
Y&-a\.ac\oux  {Venfadorn),  ii,  150, 

151  +.  157.   169,  181,  188,  190, 

211,  357,  405 


Ventoux,  Mt.,  i,  iS,  411 

Vercingetorix,  ii,  105 

Verona,  i,  259,  261 

yers,  ii,  449 

Versification  of  the  Trouba- 
dours, ii,  283+,  388,  393,  444- 

Vic-le-Comte,  ii,  85  + 

Vic-sur-Cere,  ii,  i  +,  24  -h 

Vidal,  Peire,  i,  63,  252,  267,  273 
+  ,  290 +,  331,  350,  393,  423, 
427,  446,  456,  457,  461,  463  +, 
466  +  ;  ii,  140,  188,  196,  258, 
317,359,  417,419,433,434,447 

Vidal,  Raimon,  ii,  176,  411.  472 

Vienne,  ii,  387,  392,  413 

Villages,  ii,  121  + 

Villehardouin,  i,  72,  76 

Vincent  de  Beauvais,  i,  126  ; 
ii,  256,  390,  440 

Virgil,  i,  258  ;  ii,  269,  437 

Visigoths,  The,  i,  153,  211  ;  ii, 
328 

Vital,  Orderic,  ii,  129,  467 

Vodable,  i,  264,  460;  ii,  87+, 
loi,  392 

Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  ii, 

384 
War  and  the  Art  of  War,  i,  70  -r, 

185,   229,  292  ;  ii,  234,    237  +, 

247  +,  283,  428,  432 
William  of  Conches,  ii,  266 
William  of  Malmesburv,  ii,  348, 

467 
Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,ii,  474 
Woman's  Position,   i,   7,   59  +, 

217,  421  ^  ;  ii,  28,  73  ^,  127, 

168,  429,  436 
Work  of  the  Troubadours,  The, 

i>  31,  45,  58,   76,  420,  426;  ii, 

149,  192,  242  +,373  +  >  376+, 

432,  472 
Worth  and  Excellence,    i,   151, 

177 

Young-heartedness,   i,    151  ;     ii, 

223  ■^,  397 

Zorgi,  Bertolome,  i,  257,  309, 
458  +  ;  ii,  417 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NOV  1 8 1976 

OfSCHARGF-UffT 

L.; 

APR    5  1984 


IS- 


.^3  is^ 


Form  L9-Series  444 


PK  illllll 


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